


Love and Other Bruises

by oooknuk



Series: Love and Other Bruises [1]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooknuk/pseuds/oooknuk
Summary: Ray returns from Canada and suffers a brutal attack. Fraser has a great deal of work to do to return his friend to health and happiness.





	Love and Other Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters you recognise will belong to Alliance. No infringement of copyright intended. Not for profit. 
> 
> Warnings: Rape and violence (occurring in the past, non-graphic), language, m/m, gratuitous use of smutty material from the late and much lamented Peter Cook, OOC namechecking of Star Wars characters. 
> 
> Author's notes: Medical details in this story are, like the rest of the story, a work of fiction and imagination.

I pick up the phone on the first ring. It's not much of a job, but someone has to do it.

"Constable Benton Fraser."

"Fraser? It's Harding Welsh."

"Lieutenant? A pleasure to hear from you - what can I do for you?"

"It's Ray - Kowalski. Fraser.... Ben... It's bad news."

I take a moment to calm my breathing. "He's dead."

"No. But it might be better if he was. Ben.... he needs you."

"I'll come as soon as I can."

 

* * *

Welsh meets me at O'Hare. The grim smile he gives in greeting is the last one I see on his big, craggy face for a long time. Without delay I'm loaded into his car for the trip across town, and he tells me what has happened.

"Ray was kidnapped a month after he got home from that trip with you. He was snatched from his parents' trailer in Skokie - they were both shot dead, right there. Pro hit. He disappeared, no trace of him for three days, then the PD gets a call to come and pick up its 'property'. His car was found burnt out, dumped in the lake, and we found him in a warehouse on the southside. They worked him over good, Fraser - broke his arm, his leg, smashed his jaw, they busted his hands...." Welsh's voice trails off. There's something he doesn't want to say.

"Was that all, sir?" I prompt, hating myself. It's worse than I feared.

"No, Fraser, that's not all., The *fuckers* raped him - more than once. We're not sure.  He was pretty torn up."

I feel sick. "Was he unconscious?"

"He was when we found him .... but no, not during the attack, not that we can work out. There was no concussion or anything like that."

"So, why don't we know...?"

"Because he hasn't spoken since he woke up in hospital, that's why." Welsh's words are spat out bitterly. Not an emotional man, he's been deeply affected, I can tell, by this. I understand why. Four months, and Ray hasn't spoken. Five months since ... I must not think about this.

"He's catatonic?"

"Let's just say, you're our last hope of bringing him back from the dead." Some hope, I think. Still I insist on being taken directly to the facility where Ray has been staying since his release from the hospital a month ago.

Welsh introduces me to Ray's doctor, one Eleanor Durand, and we are taken to her office, where we sit, politely.

"Constable, before you see Mr Kowalski, I'd like to know what your relationship with him was prior to the attack. You were friends, I understand?"

"Yes." I can feel Welsh's eyes boring into me.

"Good friends?"

"He is, or was, my best friend. And my partner - or rather, was my partner."

"He _was_ your best friend?"

Years of training have perfected my emotion-free expression. "We ... had words, prior to his departure from Canada."

"I see." She frowns, and taps her blotter with her pen. "Was the quarrel serious?" She knows it must be - grown men, police officers, do not quarrel over petty things.

"It was a misunderstanding, concerning my intentions. He wanted me to return to Chicago, and was offended when I told him I was not going to." There, you see? Not a lie in sight. I hate myself sometimes.

She gives me a hard, appraising look. "And was the breach permanent?" Was it? I don't know.

"I had hoped not, ma'am ... Doctor... but when I didn't hear from him for so many months, I naturally assumed ... well, of course, I now know the truth."

She lets out a breath, and sits back in her chair. "I'm sorry to interrogate you in this fashion, Constable, but up to this point, Mr Kowalski has been treated rather shabbily, in my opinion, by his colleagues and what remains of his family - with a couple of notable exceptions, of course," nodding at the lieutenant.

"Shabbily?"

"Yes. I don't use bad language as a rule, you understand, but I've been driven very close to it by what I've seen in this man's case. His fellow officers have abandoned him, his brother refuses to have anything whatsoever to do with him, and his ex-wife didn't want to visit, after initially saying she would. Hannibal Lector had more visitors than this poor man."

I turn to Welsh. "Stella refused to see him? I have to say that surprises me, sir."

Welsh grimaces. "She's pregnant, Fraser. Ray Vecchio rang to explain and apologise. To be fair, he said he felt like shit about it, but he has to support her. It was his idea to get you to come down."

"I see. Why wasn't I told earlier?"

Welsh squirms in his seat - a most uncharacteristic movement for him. "Ray was pretty pissed off with you when he got back, wouldn't say why. I guess I thought you wouldn't come."

The slow burning anger which ignited when I first heard about what happened to Ray, flares into white heat, but again, my training ensures nothing is revealed by my posture, except, possibly a slight tightening of my grip on my Stetson. I force my voice to remain calm.

"Whatever ... whatever passed between Ray and myself, he will always be my friend. I wish you had told me, sir."

Welsh waves an apologetic hand. "Well, you're here now."

Yes, but am I too late? I should have been here for Ray, before.

Dr Durand is apparently reassured by what she has heard, and stands up. "Let me take you to him. Be warned, Constable - he is in poor shape, despite our efforts. I caution you to refrain from touching him, or raising your voice, or making loud noises."

She takes us to a room, and motions me forward. "He doesn't speak or move, hasn't in four months, except to eat, relieve himself and sleep. Frankly, it's one of the toughest cases I've ever seen. We'll wait here. The door will be unlocked - we don't think he's dangerous."

He used to be, I think bleakly.

 

* * *

(Four months before)

"Nearly done there, son?"

"Just.... yeah, got it." I shut the hood on the GTO and grin at my dad. I know he always preferred to tune the baby himself, but hey, he's not gonna be around forever. Besides, it's fun, and I could do with it.

"Start her up, Dad." The car purrs into life. What a sweet sound.

"Ok, Raymond. Good job, son."

We walk back to the trailer. Mum's got coffee on, and one of her cakes. It's cozy - well, cramped - in the trailer's dining area, but it's good to be with them. So normal - not like... Don't go there, Kowalski.

"How's work, Stanley?"

"Well, you know, Mum - the usual." Don't want to tell her what it's really like - I'd have to tell them why.

"Have you heard from the constable?" She asks, innocently. That's right, Mum. Stick the knife in.

"No," I say shortly, and bite into the slice of cake so she can't get me to say any more on that. She's no fool, my mum, and gives me the patented, 'Don't kid me, young man' look she's perfected over sixty years. I grin back, face full of her great cake, but I spit it out as the door smashes open, and the trailer is full of bad guys. I'm jammed against the wall, not good. The first asshole pulls out a silenced gun, and shoots her. Blood and brains splatter all over me.

"No!" Dad screams. She's fallen on me - my lap is full of my dead mother. The bit of my brain that's still working goes for the gun which - shit - is not there. Who brings a gun to their parents' home, for fuck's sake? I'm still trying to free myself of her, when Dad is shot - same as Mum, right in the centre of the forehead. I force my emotion down, and try to think, but there's so little time. I figure I'm next, but there's nowhere to go but forward, so that's what I do. I launch myself at the fuckers, screaming like a banshee, but get nowhere. There's pain, an all over muthafucka please god make it stop, pain, and my legs give out. Well, pretty much every thing gives out. I know what this is - a tazer - I've seen it used before. Never felt it though. I'll pass on it next time. The men drag me over the corpses of my dead family, and tie my hands and legs together. I'm thrown into my own GTO and driven off. From the door opening to the car moving has taken less than a minute. Someone wants me alive - but doesn't care who dies to get me. This does not exactly comfort me. In fact, it scares the shit outta me.

 

* * *

(Present)

I step into Ray's room. The monastic simplicity is so wrong, my subconscious registers, I know. My conscious brain is occupied solely with the man huddled on the bed in the corner, knees up, twisted awkwardly to one side, his head pressed against the wall. What draws my attention immediately is his hand, which is resting slack on the bed next to him. If a child made a model of a hand in plasticine, then carelessly squashed it, it probably wouldn't look as bad as this ... thing, made of living flesh and crushed bone. It revolts me, hits me at my very core. Ray's hands are ... were... long, surprisingly delicate, and agile. There's only one thing worse than looking at this obscenity, which I discover when I see his eyes. The windows to the soul. Ray's eyes say that there is no one there - the temple of his body has been defiled, the gods of house and home have fled. It is all I can do not to stroke the damaged face, the crushed cheekbone, but I remember the warning from the doctor.

Instead, I sit at the end of the bed, rest my shoulders against the wall, and draw my knees up, as he has done. I smile at him.

"Hello, Ray." No reaction, of course. "Lieutenant Welsh told me ... asked me to come. I didn't know you were hurt, I came as soon as I heard."

I had not previously appreciated how difficult it is to talk to someone you know well, who knows all your stories and your history, when there is no reaction. Despite what many people say, I am not in the habit of babbling mindlessly in any situation. I abandon any idea of describing my present, empty life in Ottawa and decide instead to simply tell Ray the truth of what I feel - or what, at least, I can do, with the audience on the other side of the door.

"I missed you, Ray. More than I thought I would. More than I thought possible. I was so sorry we quarrelled. I would have ... I waited for you to call. I know I should have called you. I wish we had spoken before...." The blue eyes remain blank. I sigh, and place my Stetson, which I have been clutching in my hand, on the bed between us. If I had not been watching his face at the time, I certainly would have missed the reaction - the slightest flicker of his eyes. I pick my hat up again - and there it is, no mistake. Ray's eyes are being drawn to the hat. I go to hand it to him, but remember in time. I apologise with my eyes, as I remove the buckled band and slip it into my pocket, then I push the Stetson towards him. The mangled hand moves, but does not take it, but his eyes follow its every movement. Emboldened, I pick it up again and shove it against his hand, so that the brim is under his fingers. I hear a faint sound - almost a moan.

"It's Ok, Ray. You can have it. It's yours." The eyes flicker again. As I watch, his wrist moves, brushing the crown of the hat. It seems to me he wants to pick it up, but cannot, because of his hand. I pick the hat up, and again that faint sound comes from his slack mouth. I hold it in front of him, asking permission. This time, his eyes meet mine. "Do you want me to put it on you, Ray?" His eyes do not leave mine, but his expression is unreadable. I take the chance, and place it gently, tilted, on his head, which had been shorn close, leaving little of his once beautiful blond hair. Perhaps he is cold. In any event, he doesn't protest. His eyes roll up, to look at the brim, which is overshadowing his thin face. A little sound, and this time his lips move. One couldn't call it a smile, but it is a reaction, and I will be optimistic and call it a good one.

I stand up. "I'm going now, Ray. But I will come back tomorrow. The Stetson is yours." He doesn't watch me leave.

I step out of the room, and find Welsh and Dr Durand watching me. "Excuse me, Doctor - where is the restroom?" She points, and with no further ado, I walk towards it, enter a stall, and throw up, heaving up the aeroplane meal, my breakfast - probably last night's dinner, if there is anything left. I vomit, until there is nothing left to come up, not even bile. I flush the toilet, and come out, to find the lieutenant waiting for me. I wash my face, and rinse my mouth. He hands me some paper towels. "I'm sorry, sir, it's just seeing him..."

"I understand, Fraser. I lost my lunch when we found him, and then when the doctors told me what had happened."

I nod, and dry my face. I find I am trembling, and steady myself against the basin until I can stand without shaking. Welsh's eyes meet mine, in sympathy. "Dr Durand wants to see us. You up to it?"

I nod again, and let him lead the way back to her office. She dismisses my apology, too excited to be concerned by my lapse.

"That was ... astonishing, absolutely astonishing, Constable. What on earth made you think of the hat?"

"I didn't. I merely responded to him, Doctor. Ray always had a special fascination for my Stetson, I really don't know why."

She get ups and walks around, animatedly. "This really is marvellous - that is the first reaction of any type we've got out of him. How long did you say you were staying?"

"I don't believe I said. I've asked for a week's leave."

She frowns. "A week? That's not enough."

"I can take up to three months, doctor, if needed - and I will take more, unpaid, if I have to. Whatever he needs."

She sits again, and stares at me. "Constable, what exactly is your relationship with Mr Kowalski?"

"I believe I explained..."

"Yes, you said you were his friend. Now, I'm asking you again... what is your relationship?"

I shake my head. "I told you the truth. We are friends."

"Constable, were you aware of the reason why Detective Kowalski was ostracised by his fellow officers?"

That surprises me - she'd mentioned a lack of visitors, but ostracism? That's a strong word. I look to Welsh.

"Fraser, you know ... knew Ray better than anyone. Were you aware he was gay?"

Oh God, I think. I shake my head.

"Homosexual, sir? No. I believe the term is bisexual - he was, after all, deeply in love with Stella."

"So, you would not be surprised to learn that shortly before he went to Canada, that he apparently had an affair with a rookie cop at the 20th precinct."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes what, Fraser?" Welsh is irritated.

"Yes, I would be surprised. I am certain this is not true."

"And you are certain of this because...." Here it comes, and there is nothing now I can do to prevent it.

I take a deep breath. "I know that Ray is not unfaithful to those he loves, and I know for certain that he was in love with someone, who is not a rookie cop."

"How do you know that? Who is this person?" the doctor asks.

"Me. Ray told me he loved me when he was in Canada. I have no reason to disbelieve him."

"And yet you had no contact with him from the time he left until now?" I nod.

"So you don't return his feelings - you aren't bisexual or homosexual yourself?"

If my back was any straighter, it would snap. "Yes - and yes." She glares at me. "Yes. I do return his feelings. Yes, I am bisexual."

I hear Welsh whisper "Oh, Christ", and for once, the words are actually a prayer. Dr Durand's expression softens.

"I'm so sorry, Constable ... Mr Fraser. You've never told anyone that before, have you?" I shake my head. "And you couldn't tell Ray, is that right?"

"No. I am ashamed of myself."

"Being gay is nothing ...."

"No, you misunderstand. I'm ashamed of being a coward, of being too frightened to tell him how I felt - how I feel. If I had, he might not be in there, like that, now. You may be disgusted with me, Lieutenant, " I say to him bitterly, "but believe me, not half as much as I am disgusted by myself."

Welsh touches my arm. "Fraser ... Ben .. I'm not disgusted. Just surprised." Somehow, I find the courage to look at him.

"Sir, this rumour which spread about Ray - was that the reason it took so long to find him?"

"It's possible," he says regretfully. "I don't like to think that, but maybe. Ray's always been a loner, and he made no friends the way he was when he got back. The gay thing - well, I don't think it helped."

Dr Durand brings us back to the matter at hand. "So, Mr Fraser ... may I call you Ben?" I nod. "Now I know how you feel about Ray ... Can I ask what you are prepared to offer in the way of assisting his recovery?"

I fist my hands on my knees, and look her in the eye. "Doctor, I will do everything - anything - I can to help him. I would die for him."

She laughs softly at my vehemence.

"I really don't think that will be necessary. But it could take a long time - possibly forever - to heal him. "

"If that's what it takes, so be it." She nods, satisfied. "There is one suggestion I might make..."

They listen with interest, and agree the idea is a good one. She allows me to make the necessary phone calls, and to my Ottawa superiors to arrange the extended leave. Welsh tells me I can stay in Ray's apartment. I stand, preparing to leave with Welsh, but Dr Durand stops me with a raised hand.

"Ben - I should warn you - when, if, Ray comes through this - there are no guarantees he'll still feel the same as he did before."

"It doesn't matter. My feelings won't change." She looks at me sadly, and lets us go.

Back in the car, Welsh tries to apologise. "Ben, I'm sorry. I had no idea..."

"It's perfectly all right, sir. I kept my feelings hidden. I'm not proud of that."

"For what it's worth, all that homophobic cop crap - I don't buy into it. Ray's a good officer - a good detective - and a good man. Nothing else matters. Where or into who he sticks his pecker is none of my concern." I wince at the crudeness, but his concern is touching.

"Sir - Ray can't go back, into the force, I mean - can he."

He puffs out his cheeks. "No," he says quietly. "He's too crippled - jesus, you saw his hands. But right now, I think we just gotta get him home."

"Understood."

 

* * *

Over the next week, I settle into a routine. I have installed myself in Ray's apartment, and use his car to go back and forth to the hospital - no, the home, as they like to call it - every day, where I spend a few hours with Ray. The Stetson is his constant companion, and it is becoming sadly misshapen, especially without the band to protect the crown. Dr Durand was slightly startled when I told her why I'd removed it - I forbore from mentioning that I had last used the sharpened buckle to escape from a facility not dissimilar to the one in which we are at present - but she agreed it was a necessary precaution. When Ray emerges from his catatonia, suicide could be a risk.

The days are immensely frustrating. After the excitement of the breakthrough on the first day, there has been no progress. I talk, he ignores me, but he holds onto my hat like a sacred icon. Sometimes he wears it, and a more pathetic and touching picture one could scarcely imagine. For all the lack of reaction, Dr Durand encourages me, and I gain a great deal of comfort from our after visit discussions. I want her to understand what a special man Ray is, and why I am determined to stay until he is well. For her part, she wants me to be more relaxed about my sexuality, and I have to admit that in talking to her, I have felt more comfortable and easy about the subject than I have ever done before. Of course, until Ray recovers, this is all theoretical. But even discussing it gives me some hope that one day we will come through this, that we will be happy together. Something has to keep me going.

Finally, the day arrives on which we have been staking so much. I go to Ray's room and let Diefenbaker in ahead of me, all energetic at finally being out of the various vehicles which conveyed him from Canada. Naturally, he immediately goes to Ray, jumps on the bed and licks his face. To Dief, Ray is always Ray - his packmate, no matter what has changed to our eyes. Ray allows my wolf to virtually drown him in canine saliva, but to my disappointment, there is no reaction. Frustrated, I call Dief to come off the bed, but then I hear it again - the soft noise Ray made when I briefly removed the Stetson from him. I go and sit on the end of the bed, and ask Dief to come up between us, which he obligingly does, lolling against Ray's legs. We sit like that for a half hour or more. Dief is very patient - he is always good with the sick and with children, and I know he knows that Ray is a bit of both. Then, I see it - a tiny movement of Ray's right hand, towards Dief. I say quietly, "Go on, Ray, touch him. He's missed you."

To my delight, the hand advances, and then he is actually holding Dief - his hand is fully on his neck, and is being rubbed back and forth. A soft crooning noise comes out of his mouth - after a week of silence, it is a beautiful sound. My eyes begin to fill with tears, and I don't want to distress Ray, so I hastily excuse myself and leave to find Dr Durand and tell her the good news. She is, of course, excited and pleased, and makes immediate arrangements for Diefenbaker to stay at the hospital as long as he is needed. He can stay in Ray's room, and an orderly will walk him after Ray goes to sleep.

When I go back to Ray's room, there is another miracle. Ray has relaxed the tight huddle he has maintained in my presence ever since I first arrived, and is now actually lying curled around Dief, who is doing a passable imitation of a plush toy. Ray is fast asleep. I cannot resist it, and as I pat my wolf to thank him, I allow my lips to brush Ray's forehead. "Sleep well, my love," I whisper. He does not hear me.

Dief has succeeded where no human could. Ray's complete attention is taken up with him, and his eyes track him ceaselessly. It is well we made arrangements for Dief to remain at the home, because it is clear Ray will not allow him out of his sight. I am thankful Dief has become accustomed from my years at the Consulate, to spending long hours sitting still, and by watching his diet, I have reduced his need to urinate to the barest minimum. But still Ray does not speak, even to the wolf, nor does he acknowledge humans in any way.

Two more weeks pass. Realising that even the three months leave I have arranged may be insufficient, I ask for another two months unpaid absence. My savings are healthy, and if need be, Lieutenant Welsh has offered to assist. All that matters to either of us is to win the battle for Ray's mind.

That battle has only consisted of light skirmishes until now - unbeknownst to me, D-Day has arrived. The day starts, as so many before, with me quietly talking to Ray, while Dief noses around the spotless room in a fruitless search for titbits. Suddenly the door swings back, catching Dief unawares, and hitting his forepaws. He yelps and whines, and I jump up to check his condition. The orderly who has come to give me a message apologises loudly for his clumsiness. Then over the racket created by wolf and man, comes another sound - a low mutter. Ray's voice. I turn to him, but he is not talking to us. The heels of his injured hands are pressed tightly over over his ears, the Stetson forgotten, fallen on the floor.

"Hurts. Shut up. SHUT UP. Stop screaming, you stupid fucker. It hurts. Shut up. They'll know. They'll come back. Stop it. Stop screaming." He keeps the litany up, rocking back and forth. Even Dief can't distract him. I signal the orderly to fetch Dr Durand. Meanwhile I go over and sit by Ray.

"Ray," I say to him. No reaction. "Ray, who's screaming?"

"Stupid bastard. Stupid fucking bastard."

"Why is he screaming, Ray?"

"Hurts. Hurts bad. Make it stop. Make him shut up."

I sense Dr Durand has come in, and is watching the interplay between us. I ignore her.

"What hurts, Ray? Who do you want to shut up?"

"Ray hurts. Shut up, Kowalski. Stop screaming. Shut up. SHUT UP!" He yells these last words, and leaps off the bed like an Exocet missile. He almost makes it, but his weakened and crippled leg betrays him, and he falls to the floor, keening piteously. Dr Durand goes to pick him up, but I warn her back with a look. I position myself behind Ray and lift him until he is sitting against me. Then I force his hands from off his ears, and hold them in front of him, against his chest, my arms wrapped around him. All the time he is shaking. "Noooo!" he wails, as I hold him.

"Ray, it's me - Ben. It's OK. You're safe with me. Let me hold you," I whisper in his ear, holding him tightly, trying to ease his panicky thrashing. In his weakened state, he does not have the energy to keep this frantic action up, and he is soon exhausted. The keening eases too, and then, suddenly his head falls forward. He's asleep. I look at the doctor, who nods, so I lift my friend up and put him on his bed. He is so thin, and he weighs almost nothing, even though he is as tall as me. The orderly fetches a blanket, and I cover him. Dief immediately jumps up, and positions himself between Ray and the wall.

"I'm going to stay until he wakes up" I tell the doctor, and she nods again, pulling a chair over for me. I sit next to the bed, and hold his hand, stroking the lined forehead - wondering if this is the road to recovery at last.

Ray sleeps the rest of the day, and it is dark before he wakes. The only light is the small reading lamp I switched on an hour ago. His eyes open, and meet mine, and for the first time in a month, I sense, joyfully, that there is an actual awareness there.

"Ben?" He whispers. Such a sweet sound.

"I'm here, Ray."

" 'm cold." I fetch another blanket and cover him and Dief, then sit again. He snuggles down.

"Wanna go home, Ben."

"Soon, Ray. Soon." His eyes close again, and then he is asleep. This time I leave him be, with Dief, and go back to his apartment. Alone.

 

* * *

Now that Ray has begun to communicate, things are both better and worse. He can now be helped, but he is also, unfortunately, completely able to understand the horror of his situation. On Dr Durand's advice, I wait until late afternoon before I visit, so that she has a chance to speak to him, to tell him what has been happening. She tells me that he has taken things relatively calmly, but she is starting him on anti-depressants as a precaution. When I finally see him, he is sitting on the side of his bed, with Dief at his feet. For the first time in a month, he is not holding or wearing my hat, which has been placed on the nightstand. But his eyes are aware, and meet mine as I sit in a chair opposite him.

"Hello, Ray."

"Fraser." He drops his eyes, and looks at his damaged hands resting in his lap.

"How are you feeling?" I ask gently.

"I'm good, " he mumbles. Then he says something I can't catch.

"I didn't hear what you said, Ray."

"I said, I thought I dreamed you."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, well, I figured that out when I saw Dief, and your hat. Guess you're gonna be going back soon, huh? Now I'm awake?" He still won't look at me.

"No, Ray."

"Huh?"

"No, I'm going to be here for a while longer. At least until you go home." He doesn't answer that. Dief has jumped up onto the bed next to him, and he strokes his fur absently.

"It's a lot to take in. Mum, Dad, being hurt - losing five months of my life..."

"I know, Ray. You have friends to help you. I will help you."

"Wanna go home, Fraser."

"As soon as you're strong enough, Ray. Soon."

He stays quiet while that information digests.

"Why are you here, Fraser?"

"You needed me, Ray."

"I needed you before .... before..." He can't continue. Of course he needed me before, and I pushed him away, like the idiot I am. I hate myself

"Why are you here?" he asks again, and I recognise the tone - it's his interrogation room cop voice.

"I told you, you...."

"No, goddammit, *why* are you *here*?" Last time I saw you, you made it pretty obvious that I made you sick to your stomach. So what is this? Some guilt trip? Benton Fraser, Mountie, rescues another piece of scum from his appointed doom?" His rising agitation is upsetting Dief, who whines. Ray pats him in response and falls silent.

"Ray, you're wrong. It's not guilt - well, not entirely." His head snaps up and I see the sneer. "You have every right to be angry with me. I wasn't honest with you when ... when you declared your feelings for me. I was a coward, and I am ashamed." His sneer is replaced by a look of pure astonishment.

"You were dishonest, Fraser? Afraid? Of what?"

"Of me. Afraid of me. Afraid to admit... that I was... that I am ... in love with you." I reach out to touch his face, but he jerks away, so I drop my hand.

"No, Fraser, don't do this to me. I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity, Ray. If I had one tenth of your courage, I would have done this when you told me how you felt." His blue eyes are wet with unshed tears, but he doesn't move as I lean towards him, and gently brush his lips with mine. A soft sound emerges from between them - a sound of longing. I slip onto the bed next to him, and put my arms around him. He stiffens up immediately, but as I keep hold of him, he relaxes and goes limp. I take his face in my hand and turn it gently towards me, so I can kiss him again, this time with more strength. I feel him respond, but I don't let it go on too long, mindful of his experiences and his condition. I want him to control the situation. He sighs.

"I'm dreaming, Fraser?"

"No, Ray."

"Good." He snuggles into me, and I hold him, stroking his head.

"Why did you let me go, Ben?"

"Because I'm a fool, Ray. But I'm here, and I never want to let you go again."

"I'm a mess."

"No you're not. You've been hurt. Let me help you."

" 'kay." His breathing deepens and for the second time in twenty four hours, he falls asleep against me. I could get used to this.

 

* * *

Ray is determined to go home as soon as he can. Dr Durand wants him to start physical therapy and to get some strength back before he can do so. She also begins to counsel him about the events which put him in hospital. At his insistence, I am present as she draws out the details of the attack and kidnapping, so that I can record, in an official capacity, any important details - Ray doesn't want to have to go over all this more times than he has to. A dozen times during these painful interviews, I want to hold him, but she wants him to do this by himself. The sessions leave us all exhausted.

The day she asks him about the rapes is one of the worst I can remember. He had already described in a deceptively matter of fact manner, how the four men who abducted him had systematically smashed his hands and his limbs with baseball bats, how they had applied a tazer at different times as a way of amusing themselves, between ... other activities. Ray had been placed face down on a mattress.

"Didn't need to chain me up or nothin' seeing how they'd busted everything. Then it's like, fuck the cop, have a break, play some cards, fuck the cop. Went on all day, I think. Don't remember much after the second day. The mattress stunk - smelled of piss, and other stuff. Couldn't get my face out of it, the whole time. The nights were bad - when they left me alone. I got so cold, and I was so thirsty. They never put anything in my mouth - I think they knew I'd bite. Wasn't like they could threaten me to be good - they already done their worst." I want to throw up. Ray's face is white, and sweating.

Dr Durand asks in a softly sympathetic voice, "How many times, Ray?"

"Can't remember. Just remember screaming. It hurt. Everything hurt. And ... and they laughed. Remember that. Then they'd do it all over again. I begged 'em to stop, to just kill me and get it over with. But that made 'em laugh even more." He begins to shake and rock back and forth, until I can stand it no more and go to his side. He clutches at me desperately. I wrap my arms around him and signal to Dr Durand that enough is enough. She nods and leaves us in peace. Ray's hands are wrapped tightly in my shirt front, and he cries and trembles, until I feel my heart will break from the pain of seeing him like this.

"I wanted to die, Ben. I couldn't stop yelling, screaming - god, it hurt so much. Never knew anything could hurt so bad." His voice is so broken up by the sobbing breaths it is hard for me to understand him, but his pain is clear. What can I do to help him, except hold him, and be there? What do you say to someone whose life has been torn apart so violently?

Once he has settled for the evening, I drive to Lieutenant Welsh's house for supper, as I have done a couple of times a week since I arrived back in Chicago. He is his usual kind, gruff self, and I look forward to my evenings with him, to talk freely about Ray. I would never have imagined being so close to the lieutenant before, but the brutality of Ray's attack and our shared affection for him, has brought us close. Tonight I tell him the bare bones of what Ray has said about the rapes, and I see he is as sickened as I am.

"It's going to be difficult to catch them, isn't it, sir. There's no evidence - the men used condoms and Ray was blindfolded. You said there were no prints at the trailer. He says he remembers them calling each other by their first names, and referring to a 'Jack', but that doesn't help us much."

He shakes his head regretfully. "No, you're right. It was a pro job. Probably hired muscle from out of town. The word is that it was a mob thing. Must be a revenge attack - no one would do all that just to kill a police officer. I think they wanted him to live the way he is. Bastards."

"I would kill them with my bare hands, if I caught them." My words surprise him as much as me - I've never hated anyone as much as I hate the unknown people who have done this to my Ray, and the interests of justice have no place in my heart in this matter. It is only when Welsh puts his hand on my shoulder that I realise I am shaking.

"Come on, Ben. The spare room's made up. You don't need to be alone tonight, and you're in no shape to drive. Go to bed."

As I fall asleep, I thank god there is one person left from Ray's former life that we can both depend on.

 

* * *

Given the cathartic nature of the previous day's revelations, and the dependence Ray has developed upon me, I am totally unprepared for the sullen, uncooperative man who greets me today. Normally I arrive in time to help Ray eat his lunch - feeding himself is still a challenge with his damaged hands, although I have obtained some special cutlery used by arthritis sufferers, which makes things easier. But today he refuses to let me help him, which basically means he doesn't eat, and he fumbles the juice container awkwardly, spilling most of it. When I bend down to mop it up, he stands up and shouts at me.

"Get the fuck up, Fraser. You ain't a cleaning woman. I don't need your help."

"It's only a bit of juice, Ray..."

"I said, get the fuck up!" I stand up as he orders, and his eyes are blazing with fury.

"Why the fuck are you even here, Fraser? What's the point? I got nothing for you, so you can quit your Florence Nightingale act, take your fucking stupid hat and your damn dog, and get the fuck out of here!" He's panting hard with the exertion of shouting, and he sits down, refusing to look at me.

I take the chair near the bed, but don't touch him. "I'm not going, Ray."

"Which part of 'get the fuck out of here' did you not understand, Mountie?"

"Which part of 'I'm not going' did _you_ not understand, detective?"

Dief barks, unhappy that his two humans are shouting at each other. Ray yells at him. "Shut your trap, Dief. Go on, Fraser, take your  dog out of here, and your hat. I don't need you."

I use my most reasonable voice, the one I reserve for insane gunmen and attempted suicides. "As you are well aware, Ray, Dief is somewhat contrary. He's made his mind up that he is going to stay with you, and I don't think he'll listen to me. The hat is yours - I've already replaced it. And as for me, I'm trying to decide how angry you would like me to get - mad enough so I walk out of here just this afternoon, mad enough so I don't come back for a week, or so angry that I go back to Canada and never come back? Could you tell me? I don't want to get it wrong, because I don't want you hurt any more."

"God damn you, Fraser, leave me alone! I'm damaged goods, you hear? I got nothing for you. If you won't go, I will!" And with that, he gets to his feet, limps to the doorway and leaves the room. I think it might be better for him to wear his anger out before I try again, so I leave also and go in search of Dr Durand.

She is sympathetic. "It had to happen some time, Ben. He's got a lot of anger inside him, rightly so, and you're a convenient target. He's a rape victim, you're the man he loves. He feels dirty, and unwanted. Give him a bit more time."

"Should I come back tomorrow?"

"Yes, but don't be surprised if he rejects you. Don't worry - he needs you, he just needs to work that out."

I go home, hurt by Ray's actions despite the sense of Dr Durand's words. True to her warning, Ray refuses point blank to see me the next day, and the one after. On the third day of asking, and being refused, Dr Durand suggests that I stay away for a while, until she thinks Ray is ready for my visit.

After the third week, I wonder if I am ever going to see him again.

 

* * *

I ain't seen Fraser in three weeks. Well, I told him to stay away, and I meant it. Don't want him to see me like this. Bad enough he has to feed me like a fuckin' two year old, without him having to hear how four men raped me and left me to die. No one should have to hear that. How can he want me after that? How can he ... even think about it after that? He's so damn pure, and good, and upright, and I'm this piece of broken shit on the ground. Welsh came to see me a week ago, and he starts up with this 'Detective this' and 'Detective that'. I told him to shut up - I ain't stupid. They're all trying to pretend like, sure, Kowalski's just gonna get over this little bump in the road and he'll be back at the precinct like nothin's happened. 'Cept Kowalski's a faggot, don't forget - a gimp faggot with crippled hands and a butt that half the criminals in Chicago have stuck their fucking dicks into. And don't tell me I ain't noticed that my fine fellow officers haven't exactly been rallying round the cause. Maybe they think I got AIDS. Maybe they think the gayness will rub off on them. Sure, I'm going back to work like this - maybe in another life time.

I got this little goal of getting out of this joint, and the doc says I can do that when I can walk out to the trees over there and back on my own. But right now, I gotta have this guy Richie helping me, walking me out there on one arm, while he pushes the chair he knows I'm gonna have to use on the way back. I like Richie - he ain't too smart, but the main thing about him is, he don't chatter. He don't talk, I don't talk. That's the way I like it.

Been doing this slow walk up, getting wheeled back gig for a couple of weeks, and with that, and the therapy on my leg and my hands, I'm pretty fucked in the afternoons. That's when Dr Durand likes to run her little counselling sessions, trying to make me feel like it don't matter anymore that my parents are dead, that my career is down the toilet, and my sex life is never gonna happen again. Gotta play the game, though, if I'm ever gonna get sprung.

Richie picks me up as usual, so we can have our little constitutional before lunch. Dief comes along - he's happy at getting out and about at least. I'm glad he didn't go with Fraser. Old Dief's good company - he don't talk much either, and he don't care how screwed up I am. It's a nice day, not that I care - just want to get this walk thing over with, get the day over with, so I can go to sleep and it'll be one day closer to when I can go home. We got this little route we always take. Up the gravel path, past the rose bushes, past the pond so Dief can chase the ducks and the Kowalski can get his breath back sitting on a bench. Then up again, over the lawn to the big old trees - oaks, I think - and once I get there, that's pretty much it, and Richie loads me up into the chair, and we go back. 'Cept today, there's some moron actually having a picnic under the trees. 'Cept, it's no moron, it's Fraser.

"Hello, Ray," he says, like its just normal for him to be sitting on a blanket under a tree in a loony bin. Actually it's good to see him, in a funny way, and I forget about my mad for a second or two. I see he's got quite a spread there.

"Care to join me for lunch?" Richie gives me this look, and I just know I've been set up. I want to be angry, but I ain't got the energy. I nod to him, and Richie helps me into the chair, and wheels me over to the edge of the blanket Fraser's sitting on. 'Course, Dief's already investigating the food, and between Fraser trying to shoo him off, and me encouraging him, I hardly notice Richie's slipped off. I don't know where to look when I realise I'm alone with Fraser.

"How are you, Ray?"

"I'm OK, I guess." I notice the food is all finger stuff, easy to eat. He asks if I'm hungry, and I realise, yeah, I am. He's got the tray that clips onto the wheelchair all ready, which tips me off, if nothing else had, that the doc's in on this. I don't care. It's all real good stuff, delicious - I haven't been this hungry since I woke up weeks ago. Fraser watches me eat, those baby blues shining with happiness - gotta love that guy. He's even got one of them mugs that I can handle easy, and pours me a real honest to goodness beer.

"Fraser, I love you," I say as I knock it back. I get so sick of juice, sometimes.

"And I you, Ray." He's got the goofiest grin on his face. He watches me eat until I am completely stuffed, then unclips the tray and cleans my hands and face with a baby wipe. Something in my face must have told him I wouldn't mind, because he bends forward and gives me one of those gentle sweet kisses he's so damn good at. I put my arms around him, as he kneels in front of the wheel chair.

"Missed you, Ben. I'm so sorry. I love you."

He kisses me again.

"It's all right, Ray. I know you do. And I love you with all my heart." We must make quite a sight, two guys hugging and holding like that, but who the fuck cares? I mean, we're in a psychiatric hospital. I touch his beautiful hair, and stroke his face.

"Can we go home yet, Frase?"

"Yes, Ray. I think we can."

He really means it. We get everything all packed up and go back to the room. Surprise, surprise, Doctor Durand is waiting there, with that cat who got the cream look on her face. She asks Ben how it went, and he tells her that it went very well. Then he tells her he wants me to go home with him. This needs a lot more jawing. She wants me to reassure her that I can cope, that I ain't gonna top myself, and she laughs when I point out that I ain't got a gun no more, can't hold a knife or open a pill bottle, so short of asking Dief nicely to tear my throat out, what am I gonna do? Ben's got the health and safety side of things sorted out, and he's still not back at work so he can bring me over for therapy every day. Finally she's satisfied, and says OK. I don't want to spend another night here, so with a bit more arguing, and five minutes to pack, Fraser's loading me into my own car, and we're on our way outta this chicken joint.

It's all happened so fast. A nasty little voice in the back of my head says it's too good to be true, but I slap that puppy upside the head, and tell it to shut up. I'm going home.

 

* * *

Ray enters his apartment for the first time in six months, and his reaction is non-existent. He'd been very quiet in the car, which I attribute to tiredness, and being somewhat overwhelmed by the speed of events. But I had expected him to be happier than he appears to be, now that he has achieved what he has been badgering us about since he 'woke'. It suddenly hits me, what has bothered me for weeks - there will be no welcome home party for Ray, there were no cards in the hospital, no balloons. No one has called, or written. I don't understand it - after I was in the hospital following Ray Vecchio's shooting, even after all my criminal and foolish behaviour, I was welcomed back warmly, at my apartment by my neighbours, into the Vecchio home, and at the precinct. But Ray, whose only crime is to love another man, and who has lost almost everything as a result of doing his job, is treated like a pariah. He seems oblivious to this, just as he never asked in the hospital about the lack of visits. He walks around absently, looks in the fridge, at the turtle, then sits on the sofa. "Everything's clean, Fraser."

"Well, of course, Ray. It's the least I could do." That's exhausted his conversational gambits.  "Are you glad to be home?" I ask.

"Uh, sure, Fraser. Its just ... I gotta get used to it being so long. I know, up here, " knocking his head," that it's six months, but in here, "tapping his chest," it's just a month." He looks a little lost, and not a little tired and sad, so I go and sit next to him and put my arms around him. He relaxes into my embrace immediately.

"I'm sorry, Ben. I know you worked hard to get me back, and I'm real grateful. I'm just ... it's been a long day."

I kiss his forehead. "I understand. Would you like a bath, to change into some of your own clothes?" He's worn nothing but a robe and hospital clothes for months. His face lights up.

"Yeah, that'd be great." Then his expression changes. "Can't manage the bath - it'll have to be the shower. Shit - and I really wanted to soak."

I help him up. "No problem there, Ray. Let me show you." I lead him into the bathroom and demonstrate the electric bath chair which can ease him into and out of the bath, and even help him stand up, all at the touch of a button.

"You did this, Ben?"

"Yes. I also replaced the taps here and in the kitchen with ones you should find easier to use." I can see the tension ease out of him. It is important for him to be able to perform such routine tasks without help. I run the water and fetch a set of sweats, a T-shirt and underwear for him.

"Would you like me to scrub your back? " I ask, and he immediately stiffens, the tension back in force.

"Uh, no, Fraser - I... I think I want to be alone in here, if you don't mind." He's afraid to offend me, but I am cursing my insensitivity. Of course he's not ready for me to see him naked, given what's happened to him. Dr Durand warned me to take things extremely slowly, and already I have pushed him too far. I cover up my own embarrassment with a hearty pat on his back, and leave him to it.

I listen for the sound of Ray in difficulty, but all I hear are the usual sounds of bathing - he's left the door ajar in case there is a problem. I hear the water being let out, and shortly after he emerges, looking damp and beautiful.

"That feels good, Ben. It's not the same when you got an orderly waiting for you to get out."

He flops onto the sofa again. I take the towel off him that he was using to dry his hair.

"You hungry?"

"Nah, still full from all that good stuff you laid on, up at the hospital. That was damn sneaky of you, by the way."

"Was it?" I ask, in my most innocent tone. "I'm sorry if you didn't like it."

"'Course I liked it, you freak. I came home, didn't I?"

"That you did, Ray."

He yawns.

"I'm so tired all the time - worse than a kid. Would you mind if I went to bed?"

It's only six, but he's obviously exhausted. I realise we haven't discussed sleeping arrangements. "I was planning to sleep on the sofa, if that's all right with you, Ray."

Something unreadable crosses his face, then he looks relieved.

"Yeah, Ben, that'd be OK. Can't wait to sleep in my own bed again." He gives me a shy smile. "Tuck me in?"

I follow him into the bedroom, and help him out of his sweatshirt. I pull the covers up over him, and kiss him on the lips. "Good night."

"Ben?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"I ... nothin'. G'night." He rolls over, and I turn out the light. For a second I thought he might be going to invite me to join him, but the moment passes. Dief positions himself at the foot of the bed.

Once he is asleep, I call Lieutenant Welsh, who is delighted our subterfuge worked.

"He's still got a long way to go, sir."

"He's got you, Ben. That's got to help."

"Yes, sir."

"You doin' all right, Ben?"

"Me, sir?" I sound like Constable Turnbull. "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

I hear him sigh. "Things are gonna be different now for you - you can't go back to the way they were, when Ray was a cop and you were his partner. You got a lot of things to get used to."

"I'll be fine, sir."

"Well, then, keep me up to date. I'll have you both over here as soon as he's up to it. If you need me, call."

He rings off, and I ponder what he's said. It's perfectly true. For two years, I was Ray's partner and his equal. Then, while he was in the hospital, I was the concerned friend. Now ... what am I? His lover? That seems a bit presumptious. His caregiver? If that is the case, our relationship will be based on gratitude and dependence - not exactly what I had in mind. Welsh is a wiser man than I thought- there is a lot to get used to.

I must have dozed off, still fully clothed, on the sofa. A horrible sound wakes me, and I am off the sofa and running into Ray's room before I fully process what the noise is - Ray is screaming. Dief is on the floor, crouched in protective mode, but there is no one there. He is having a nightmare. As I approach the bed, he screams again and sits bolt upright, his face a mask of fright. I quickly wrap him in my arms and rock him gently, like a child, whispering soothing words. His reaction is immediate - he stops screaming and goes limp. I don't think he's woken, but his heart is still pounding. I wait until I feel it slow, then I lay him back down and cover him up.

He wakes twice more - on neither occasion is he any more aware of my presence than he was the first time, but the nightmare must be a truly horrific one. No prizes for guessing what it might be about.

 

* * *

Waking up is weird - I mean, it's my own bedroom, but I feel like I'm somewhere I've never been before. maybe it's because of the nightmares - never had such muthafuckas before. They kept me doped up to sleep in the hospital, but I didn't take anything last night. Still feel whacked. Dief's asleep on the bed. I need to pee, and go out, to see Fraser lying on my sofa. Oh shit.

I do what I have to do, and go back and hide in my room. It's hitting me now, how things have changed. Two months ago - in my time, seven months in the real world - I told this man I loved him. Wanted him more than anything else in the universe. And he said, "I think we should just be friends, Ray." I wanted to kill him - for taking my heart and throwing it in the trash. But then he brought me back from the dead. What can you say when someone does that? And tells you he did it because secretly, all this time, he's been in love with you too. And then, a month later - we're living together. OK, not in the biblical sense, but he's gonna be here 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, at least for a while. How did we get to here - and where are we going? Two - seven - months ago, I wanted to fuck him until we both couldn't move - and now the idea of sex with him, or anyone, makes me want to hurl. Not that he's not still gorgeous - this is Fraser, remember. He's okay hugging me, and kissing me, and I like it. But it's like when your mum hugs you, tells you she loves you - my dick does not want to get with the programme. What the hell am I gonna do? Will he take me saying, 'Let's just be friends, Fraser'? I don't think I want that - hell, I don't know what I want, except my old life back. And that ain't happening anytime soon.

I hide until I hear him moving about, using the bathroom. Can't stay in here forever - Dief needs to go, go out and *go*, if you know what I mean. I open the bedroom door and let him slip out. I hear Fraser call.

"Ray, are you awake? Would you like breakfast?" Time's up - gotta face the music.

He's got his happy face on. "I thought I would make pancakes - would you like that?"

"Sure, Fraser - anything." I sit at the table, and watch him make the food. He's real good at this stuff. Just one problem with pancakes - you really gotta be able to use a knife and fork. I struggle for a minute or two, for the look of it, then I look at him, and without a word, he cuts it all up for me and pushes the plate back. Suddenly I don't feel very hungry anymore.

"Something wrong, Ray?"

"Yes, there's something wrong, Fraser, " I snarl at him. "I'm a grown man who has to let another grown man cut up his food before he can eat it. Does that strike you as normal?"

He blinks - the guy was just trying to help. "Ray, you're injured - I see nothing shameful about you allowing me to help you."

"I'm not injured, Fraser - injured is where you're lying bleeding to death with the ER team trying to stuff tubes down your throat. I'm crippled. Permanently, don't get better from it, useless burden on society, fucking crippled. Understand?"

He's gonna be reasonable about this. I hate that. "Ray, you have to eat...."

"See, that's another thing. I _have_ to do this, I _have_ to do that. Whatcha gonna do if I don't do what you say, Fraser - send me back? Go home? Tie me to the bed and force feed me? I'm sick of this. No-one asks me what I want to do any more." Stupid fucking eyes are full of stupid fucking tears - bad enough I'm crippled, now I'm a wuss too. Ben reaches a hand across the table and touches mine.

"Ray, please don't be angry - I just want to help. I only want you to eat because you're so thin, and I want you to be well and strong." That gentle kind voice does it - now I'm shaking and bawling, making a complete ass of myself, and then Ben's strong arms are around me, holding me tight, keeping me safe from myself.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Ben... I hate this.. all of this... and I wanted to be perfect for you... you're so perfect ... I'm just messed up." He kneels so he can look into my face.

"You are not messed up, Ray. Life's been difficult, and bad things have happened. But to me you are perfect, always will be." How does this guy always know what to say? He lets me cry myself out, then he asks me softly. "What do you really want to do, right now?"

"Right now?"

"Yes, at this very moment."

I wipe my runny nose with the back of my hand, and he passes me a clean handkerchief.

"I think... I think I want to eat some pancakes."

"Right you are, Ray." He grins at me, throws the cold ones out and puts some fresh ones in front of me, all cut up and covered with syrup. They really are good, and I tell him that.

"OK. Now I want you to tell me if I push too hard, Ray - you know I'm a little insensitive at times. I believe I may even be a freak, or so I've been told." That makes me smile - god, I love this man. "If I forget to ask what you want, or you don't like something, I'm going to trust you to tell me. All right? Deal?" I nod.

"So what do you want to do today?"

"We gotta go to therapy today?"

He shakes his head. "No, Dr Durand wanted you to have a couple of days off, to settle in here."

"You mean, I'm on home leave?"

He laughs. "Something like that. Lieutenant Welsh has invited us to go to supper as soon as you are up to it, but we don't have to do that yet. What would you like to do?"

"Something normal - something stupid. Like a movie, or a baseball game, or eating ice-cream in the park."

"What about doing all of those things?"

"Sounds good to me."

 

* * *

Of course, we didn't get out the door as easily as that. I left Ray to get dressed while I quickly let Dief out to relieve himself, but when I return home, he's in his jeans, the fly unbuttoned, frustration plain on his face. The only clothing he can manage easily are sweats, but he refuses to go out like that. I ask him if he has anything other than the 501s, and he shows me the sole pair of jeans he owns that zip up.

"But I can't manage the zipper either, Fraser." I have a solution for that, and produce the special hook I purchased that will let him move the zipper up and down on his own. He gives me a sour look.

"This some sort of Mountie thing?"

"No, Ray - boy scouts. 'Be prepared'."

I hear him muttering "Be prepared, huh," under his breath as he manages to get the jeans on and closed without assistance.

I help him with the shoes. There are so many things that are difficult for him, but I'm sure we will eventually find solutions to most of the problems - all perhaps except the perennial one of Ray's patience. He grumbles about the jeans.

"Wanted to wear the 501s - these really suck." To my eyes, they are perfectly acceptable, but as they are the only zipper pair he owns, the 501s may have to come into use.

"Well, I can help you with them at home, but there may be a problem if you have to use the restroom while in public."

He gives me an evil grin, so like the old Ray it warms me to the core.

"You mean, someone might come in, and you'll be fooling around with my pants, and maybe get the wrong idea about us?"

"Something like that."

"Could be fun."

"It could get us arrested."

"I'm still a cop. Anyway, we could use a stall."

"Oh, and how will I explain _that_ if we get caught?

"I'll tell 'em I'm a faggot and you're my boyfriend."

"Am I your boyfriend, Ray?"

"You're a boy, and you're my friend. So there."

"Well, as long as we're clear about that. Ready to go?"

Despite Ray's protests, I insist on taking the folding wheelchair with us. I have to remind myself that he was only released from hospital yesterday, and a bare four weeks ago he was catatonic. His mood, which is highly changeable, has swung up again, and he takes a keen interest in the park where we have decided to walk and get the ice-cream he says he craves. I was right about his stamina not being up to his enthusiasm, and it is not long before I am pushing him in the wheelchair. To my relief, this hardly dampens his mood. He insists on having chilli dogs for lunch, and buying one for Dief too - I groan when I realise how Ray is going to ruin that wolf. Then his ice-cream, a quick run back to his apartment to drop Dief off, and then the matinee at the local cinema to see 'American Beauty' about which I have heard so many good things. It is a treat for us both - for him to do something 'normal' as he puts it, and for me to be able to hold his hand, like a lovesick teenager. The film is excellent, quite engrossing, and although it is not Ray's usual type of film, I can tell by the lack of fidgeting that he is enjoying it. However, the denouement is quite a shock to us - far too close to home. As the credits roll, he remains very quiet.

"I'm sorry, Ray, I had no idea..."

He waves off my apology. "Leave it, Fraser." He is silent for the journey home.

I get him settled on the sofa, and make tea for us both. I come and sit by him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He shakes his head.  "Welsh said that there were rumours about you and a rookie cop. I told him I thought they couldn't possibly be true."

"Well, they were, okay? Leave it alone, will ya?" The shock of what he's said is more than enough to make me comply. Ray - with another man - when he said he was in love with me. I can't believe it, but nor can I find the courage to break down the stony silence. At last he takes pity on me, and settles back in the sofa, looking at me.

"It's not what you're thinking, Ben." Using my first name is always a sign with him that he's let the barriers down - which lets me relax and listen to what's he's saying.

"So tell me what it was."

"It was about a month before the Muldoon thing. I was lonely, wanting to be with you, not being able to say how I felt, and I just wanted to get shitfaced. So I went to this bar - a _gay_ bar - because I couldn't stand watching happy couples, men and women, that sort of thing. " I nod - I know the feeling. "And there was this young guy - a real good looking guy, but I could tell he wasn't really into the whole scene. So we started talking, and he's a damn good listener. Turns out he's a cop too - really blew us both away when we told each other that we was both in the force. Andy - nice kid, out of the Academy about six months. Had a girlfriend, who was getting anxious about them getting married. 'Cept he's bi, and hadn't got the whole guy thing worked out. I asked him back for coffee - just coffee, and we talked. I told him about you, and how I was crazy about you, and he listened - really listened. Like I said, just a nice kid. I knew he was interested in me, but he could see that I was too wrapped up with you. Anyhow, he came over a couple of times after that - for dinner, and we talked some more. Last time I saw him, he told me straight out that he wanted me - I had to turn him down, and he was cool about that. Just said he wanted one kiss - so I let him have that. And that's all. Just a kiss."

"So we head off after Muldoon, just after that, and you know we were in Canada and ... had...words. So I come back, and the week I'm home, I hear Andy's been killed. Shot in the line of duty. That's bad enough, but then the next week, his girlfriend comes down to the 2-7 like the wrath of god, wanting to kill me, saying I'd been screwing her boyfriend and what did I think I was doing, coming between them like that. Turns out Andy had a pretty lively imagination, and he kept a diary - which she, being the girlfriend, naturally got and read. There was all this X-rated fantasy stuff about me in it. I swear to God, Ben, it was just fantasy. But anyway, the word gets out that I'm gay, and you know how it works - the more you deny it, the more people are sure about it. And I got sick of trying to deny it - wasn't like it wasn't true, just got the players wrong. Then I start getting notes, the goat got some graffiti on it - did you hear about the one about the faggot cop whose back up was late? Not a joke. Welsh was good about it, but it was getting pretty old by the time I got snatched. So I figure, if those bastards hadn't wrecked my life, I'd be dead now anyway."

I have listened in silence to the whole, sorry tale, and hardly know what to say. That Ray should be persecuted for no crime is so despicable, I cannot imagine the mentality behind it. Even if Andy's fantasies had been real - and I believe Ray totally - there would be nothing wrong in them. But at the same time, the nightmare he has described is one reason why I was so afraid to tell him I reciprocated his feelings. The RCMP is no more tolerant than the Chicago PD, although I would venture to say Canada as a whole is more receptive to gay rights than America. Ray is expecting some sort of reaction from me. I clear my throat.

"It's unfair, what happened. You did nothing wrong."

"Yeah, well, didn't do me any good. I don't suppose I deserved all this either, but I got it." He looks at the cup of tea, now stone cold in front of him. "The sad thing is, I never really did it with a guy at all - just thought about it. The only men I've had sex with are the bastards who kidnapped me."

I protest that. "Ray, that wasn't sex - rape is an expression of dominance and power over a perceived weaker individual. You mustn't think like that."

"There you go, telling me what to do again, Fraser." But there is no real resentment in the words. Ray looks old, and worn out, the cheerfulness of earlier totally gone. I realise that, having bared his soul to me, he is owed something in return.

"I should tell you that there was someone else for me, a long time ago." He nods.

"Yeah, I know - Victoria. I heard."

"No, another man." He's surprised. "While I was a teenager - another boy. It was all fairly innocent, it ended when I went into the RCMP. But in this respect, I do have slightly more experience than you."

He gives me a sad look. "Ben, I think I should come right out and tell you - I don't think sex is going to be a problem for us for a while. I don't think I want to even talk about it."

"I understand, Ray, and I'm not pushing. I just wanted you to be aware of my history. I would wait for you forever - just to be with you is a privilege."

He's surprised again, but in a nice way. "You mean that, Ben?"

I take him in my arms, and kiss him.

"Yes, I do. I nearly lost you twice - once to my own cowardice, and then to the men who attacked you. I refuse to lose you over something like whether or not we can have sexual intercourse. You mean far more to me than that."

"You say the sweetest things sometimes, Ben." I hold him for a long while, and think I really ought to be thinking about getting some real food inside him - Dr Durand wants him to gain at least twenty, if not thirty pounds over the next six months, and the way he eats, that is going to be difficult. As the room has grown dark and Dief is complaining about the lack of supper, I nudge him gently and discover, guiltily, he'd fallen asleep. He sits up, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry, Fraser - dozed off. What's for supper?"

"Lasagne." I busy myself in the kitchen, and feed my wolf, while Ray switches on the television. I think his attention is taken up by that, but when I bring his food over, I find he is not really watching it.

"Ben - can I ask you a favour?"

"Anything, Ray - you know that."

"Will... could you sleep with me tonight - I mean, just sleep?" He's so afraid I will refuse him.

"Of course. Thank you for asking." He thinks I'm doing him the favour, but there is nothing I want more than to share this man's bed - even if that is all I will be doing. I will be able to keep him safe that way.

He showers and gets ready for bed. I want him to be comfortable and under the covers before I join him. I'm at least as nervous as he is - it's been nearly four years since I shared a bed with anyone. But Ray makes it easy - he puts his arms out to me, drawing me to him, and clasped in his embrace, it feels completely right. We shift about somewhat until it is me holding him, which feels even better, and I fall asleep with my nose buried in his hairline, inhaling his sweet scent.

As before, the nightmares trouble him, but perhaps because I am right there, his reaction is nowhere near as violent. This time he does wake.

"Ben?"

"Shhh, Ray - it was just a dream. Go to sleep."

"Can't - it was too real. Can you get the light?" I reach across him and switch on the bedside lamp. He is sweating, and I can feel his heart racing under my hand.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not much to tell. I keep seeing Mum and Dad being killed. The original R-rated short." He shivers, and I regret even more my film selection of the afternoon. I hold him tighter.

"My brother hasn't been in touch, has he?" he asks quietly. I'm trying to think of a way to break it to him gently when he answers his own question. "I know he hasn't. Peter always was a real prick. Little thing like me nearly being killed ain't gonna change his mind about me - probably blames me for Mum and Dad being offed. He used to blame me for everything else that went wrong - why should this be any different?"

"I'm sorry he's not more supportive."

"Why should you be sorry, Ben? - it's not your fault. I got used to him being out of my life a long time ago."

"Mmmm," I mutter, trying to give him the hint to stop talking and get the rest he needs.

"Am I boring you, Fraser?"

"No, Ray. But it's late - why don't you go to sleep?"

"You gonna keep holding me?"

"You want me to?"

"Yeah - it's nice."

"Then I will. Goodnight, Ray." I switch off the light, and he is asleep in seconds. There are no more bad dreams that night.

 

* * *

Waking up with Fraser wrapped around me is definitely a new experience for me, not that I'm complaining. Jeez the guy is so broad, and strong, like he'd make two of me. And he smells - well, nice, but not like a woman. Not that I can hardly remember what that's like. He's so warm, and he cuddles good. It's almost like being married - not the honeymoon type of feeling, but the long-time type, comfort, sexless sort of snuggling. If this were any other guy, I'd be worried, maybe that he was thinking I'm a prick tease, but I know Fraser keeps his sex drive pretty controlled. Good for me, maybe not for him, but jesus, I need this. Need the comfort, his strength. I don't think there's much of the old Ray Kowalski left - most of that bled away on that filthy mattress those fuckers took me on. Now there's just this dried up, crippled old husk. But Ben don't seem to mind - maybe he just ain't noticed yet that the man he fell in love with ain't home no more.

I know we planned to go out again today, but it's cold and rainy, and bed's a nice place. When Ben wakes up, he's more than happy to wallow, which surprises me. He rubs his face against the back of my head.

"Always wanted to do that."

"What?"

"Feel the short hairs - they're like little threads of gold. They're softer than I thought they would be."

"Yeah, well, you got nice hair too, Fraser."

"Thank you, Ray."

"You're welcome."

"So, you want to wallow all day?"

"Maybe. You got a better idea?"

"I'll have to take Dief out sometime soon, but you can stay in bed if you like. I believe there's a hockey match on TV this afternoon."

"We could ask Welsh over, have some beers - that'd be good. I gotta talk to him about things anyway."

Ben's in no hurry to get up though, and I think we would have both dozed off, if Dief hadn't been such a pain. Ben groans and goes out, leaving me like a slob in bed. To tell the truth, I'm pretty tired - the four weeks since I rejoined the real world haven't been a picnic, and I know I gotta start physical therapy tomorrow again. I burrow under the blankets, and wait for Ben to come back.

He's gone about an hour, and I've fallen asleep when he comes back, changed back into his longjohns, carrying a tray. He apologises for waking me up, but I'm ready for breakfast. Love that man - he bought danishes, and he found the Smarties for my coffee.

"Thought you wouldn't approve of these, Ben."

"On the contrary, Ray - I want you to increase your calorie intake as much as possible, so please, eat as many of these as you like. I can always resupply you from my sources."

"Sources, eh? They're not contraband."

"No, but they are hard to get down here - I've often wondered how you obtained them."

I waggle my eyebrows. "You ain't the only one with 'sources', Fraser."

I can manage the danishes OK, but Ben wants to feed me, which is nice. At last I'm stuffed, and after I have a pee, I get back under the covers with him.

"This is kinda weird for me, Ben. Never thought we'd be lying together having a lazy Sunday morning together."

"Strictly speaking - you're the one having the lazy Sunday..." I glare at him. "Well, yes, it is not my usual habit either. But I could get used to it. You're very comfortable to sleep next to, Ray."

I love the way he throws these little compliments out at me, like the way he's so free and easy about touching me and holding me. Never was a touchy feely guy, Fraser - but then I never saw him in love before, so I don't know what to expect. It's a nice surprise."

He tells me Welsh will be over after two, which gives us plenty of time to wallow. Most of the time, Ben's babbling cheerfully away, fingers playing in what's left of my hair and over my chest. Doesn't much matter what he's talking about - it's the sound of his voice I get off on. Missed that so much when I came back from Canada - even thought about calling him up to pick a fight just so I could hear it again.

I drift in and out of sleep during the morning, until Ben announces it's lunch time. He's made soup, good hearty stuff, and put it in a mug so I manage it in bed, with fresh rolls from the bakery where he got the danishes.

"It was worth coming home for the food, Ben."

He arches an eyebrow. "Only the food, Ray?"

"Yeah - well, maybe a few other things too." I pull him over and kiss him. "Thanks, Fraser. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

He doesn't reply, in fact he looks guilty. I give up trying to work him out. Gotta get dressed before Welsh arrives.

As I go out in the living room, something strikes me. "Fraser, do you think we should put a couple of blankets out or something - he'll know you slept in my bed otherwise."

Ben doesn't reply, and when I look at him, he's gone bright red. "Christ almighty, Ben - does Welsh know about us?" He nods, and looks at his feet.

"How ... when ... what the fuck is going on here, Fraser?"

He makes me sit down before he tells me how Welsh and Dr Durand basically beat it out of him, the first day he got to Chicago. It can't have been much fun for anyone, let alone Mr Privacy, to expose their feelings like that.

"But you're saying Welsh is cool about it?"

"Yes, Ray - he's been very supportive, and kind. I think he thinks its good for us."

Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather - OK, you could have done that any way, but holy hell, that takes some beating. Welsh was good about the razzing I was taking before the kidnapping, about Andy, but that was because I told him there was nothing in it. Welsh the gay matchmaker - that's a good one.

Welsh arrives soon after, carrying a six pack and snacks.

"It's good to see you home, Kowalski."

"It's good to be here, Lieu. Listen, the other day when you came to visit, I was an asshole, I know that...."

"Can it, Ray. I was just so damn glad you were around to shout at me, I don't much care what you were shouting about."

"Thanks, Lieu." He makes himself at home on the armchair. "Uh, Lieutenant, wouldn't you be more comfortable on the sofa next to me?"

"Well Ray, I think that spot's already spoken for, don't you?" He winks, not a pretty sight, but it does make Fraser blush again, which _is_ a pretty sight. Ben takes the hint and sits next to me, and then, to my surprise, takes my hand. The lieutenant just looks at him, grins, and then he's watching the television. Guess the old guy's seen most things in fifty something years.

 

* * *

It's such a normal activity, sitting and watching a game on television with Ray shouting, and the lieutenant taking the opposing view, that I really have to work hard to remember how very recently Ray was totally cut off from the world. His thinness, his very short hair, and the scars on his face are a constant reminder, but in so many ways, this afternoon he is like the Ray I knew before. I have to guard against thinking that, though - this man has been to hell and back. Just how many minefields there are, become apparent when the game is over, and Welsh is having a cup of coffee prior to leaving.

Ray wants to know about the power of attorney which was granted to Welsh, and Welsh says that he has no problem with Ray taking over his own affairs. More difficult for Ray is when Welsh tries to put the best face on the investigation into his parents' murder, and his abduction.

"So what you're telling me, boss, is that basically 'cos it's two dead Polacks and a raped gay cop, no one's got off their asses to actually do anything about catching the bastards that did this." Ray's voice is deceptively calm, but I know from experience how easily it can flare into rage.

"Kowalski, I think I can assume that's an insult to me, because I have personally supervised the investigation into this. There's just so little to go on - you can't give us a description, the bullets turned up nothing, there are no prints..."

I decide to intervene. "If I may, sir, perhaps it would be helpful if I were to come down to the station and go over Ray's files for the six months prior to the attack. I may see something that has been missed."

Ray crosses his arms. "That's just great, Fraser - I notice you don't say nothing about me coming down there."

"I'm sorry, Ray - I just thought, with the therapy, you would have other things to worry about..."

Welsh cuts me off. "That's right, detective - you're personally involved. Even if you were 100% fit, you wouldn't be working this case."

"Yeah - well, I won't be working much ever again, will I, _sir_?"

"That's not up to me, its up to the board. I think you've got enough on your plate just getting back to full health." His face softens. "Look, Ray - let's not forget how far and how fast you've come in a month. It's nothing short of a miracle that you're even here arguing with me. You can trust me to work on your parents' case like they were my own, and believe me, I had better not be the one to arrest the men who did this to you, because I'll beat them to death with my fists. Get it?"

Ray is moved by the big man's sincerity. "Yeah, boss," he mumbles. "Thanks. Sorry I was a dick."

"Forget about it. Besides, I'll know there's something wrong with you if you start acting nice and respectful. " He turns to me. "Fraser, I'll expect you down at the precinct tomorrow. I'll make sure you get the files. I really appreciate your help." That makes me do a double take - I don't think Welsh has ever expressed gratitude for my assistance before. He lets himself out.

All Ray's belligerence has gone, leaving him looking exhausted, and fragile looking. I take him into my arms. "It's okay. Just take things easy. I promise to work on this for you, and I'll keep you informed." He gives me a wan smile.

"Ben, you're the only person I'd trust to do it right." He's dead on his feet, so I put him to bed. The nightmares are particularly harsh, that night.

 

* * *

After I drop Ray off for therapy, I go to the precinct. True to his word, Welsh has already pulled all the files. I see the detectives working the case have already done the obvious thing of checking the current location of the people Ray has arrested or put away over his time at the 27th. One name jumps out.

"Sir, don't you think the timing of this is a little coincidental? He dies just before Ray goes to Canada, and almost immediately upon Ray's return, allowing for time for the news of his early return to become widespread, he is abducted."

"Are you suggesting he had Ray abducted from beyond the grave?"

"No sir, but it was the most high profile case Ray worked on. I'd like to look at it further."

Welsh pins me with a solemn look. "Constable, I hope for Ray's sake you are completely wrong about this."

Over that week, I locate the ex-wife, and learn several surprising facts. Then Welsh arranges for telephone logs, and more facts emerge. We talk to the desk sergeant, who out of homophobic malice, passed on Ray's whereabouts and his parents' address. Finally, after another two weeks, we have enough evidence to apply for search warrants, and phone taps. We want to be absolutely sure of ourselves. During the time it takes to build the case, I don't give Ray any cause to suspect the line of our investigations. He is, anyway, usually exhausted by the therapy, and the everyday struggle of coping with his limitations. Most days, upon his return home, he eats, bathes and falls into bed. I can see some improvement, but he is still underweight by a considerable degree, and his muscles have weakened a great deal through non-use. It will be weeks - possibly as long as two months - before he is fully well. In body, at least. The spirit will take longer to heal.

 

* * *

A month after we first started the fresh line of enquiry, Welsh hands me the report, and I know why he looks so stricken. It's conclusive.

"This will hurt Ray." I say.

"This'll kill him. Why the hell did it have to be tied to this - the damn Botrelle case again. That's been an albatross around this precinct's neck for nine years." He looks at me straight. "Ben, we can't lose Kowalski over this."

"We can't conceal it from him."

He exhales.

"I know. But we better have our backup plan in place, because I don't think you and me are gonna be enough to save him."

"The desk sergeant?"

"Internal Affairs will take care of her."

I tell Ray that Welsh is coming for dinner, and fortunately this is so commonplace, he doesn't question it. I ply Ray with beer, and serve wine with dinner - a cheap tactic, I know, but we are desperate to keep him calm once he hears what Welsh has to say.

I serve coffee, and Welsh sits on the sofa next to Ray, and I am on the armchair - Ray is effectively penned in, but doesn't know it.

"Ray, there's some news I have to tell you."

"Spill, Lieu - sheesh, so formal." The lieutenant's continued silence gives Ray the first warning that this is more serious than he thought. "Boss? What's going on."

He speaks softly, as if the words will have less impact that way. "We know who was behind the attack on you and your parents, and we know why. But before I tell you, I want your promise that you will stay calm, that you won't try to leave this apartment without me or Ben, and that you won't do anything stupid."

"You're scaring me, boss." Ray looks worried - this is so unlike Welsh's normal manner. I put my hand on Ray's leg as the lieutenant begins to speak.

"The man who ordered the hit was a police captain name of Jack Henderson. Ray, he was Sam Franklin's lover - his wife found out and divorced him after he went to prison. Franklin was killed in prison the week before you and Ben went to Canada on the Muldoon thing. He was raped and beaten to death - no surprise, ex-cops don't last long. Henderson ordered you to be taken because he blames you for his lover's death - your parents were just in the way. We got Henderson, and he's named the men he hired, in exchange for us not pressing for the death penalty. We got lucky - we found some blood spatters on a the coat of one of them, and we've found the gun. That ties him to the murder scene, and we're working on him to give up the others."

Ray shows no reaction to this news, other than a draining of all colour from his face. I feel his leg tremble under my hand. He is silent for so long, that Welsh is worried.

"Ray? It wasn't your fault - you did your job on the Botrelle case, and I'm proud of you. It's not fair what happened to your parents, or to you."

"It's fair, boss - I took away eight years of an innocent woman's life, Henderson takes my Mum and Dad and my career. Good trade, if you ask me." His tone is eerily calm.

"That's crap, detective..."

Welsh's voice trails off as Ray turns the full force of his lucent, sad eyes on him. "I ain't a detective anymore, Lieu - told you that before," he says with deceptive calmness.

"Ray, please," I say, "the lieutenant is right. Henderson is an evil man. His actions could not be predicted, and it isn't your fault, or some sort of trade off for what happened to Beth Botrelle."

"OK. I understand. Thanks Lieu, for coming over and telling me, I appreciate it. Ben, I'm tired - I'm going to bed." And with that he goes into our bedroom and shuts the door.

Welsh and I look at each other. "I don't think there's anything in there he can harm himself with, Lieutenant. I think he needs some time to think it through."

"You know him best, Ben. You ring me - keep me informed. I'm not losing him on my watch."

"Did you make the call?"

"Yes - it's all in place if we need it."

I think we may. I see him out, and go into the bedroom. Ray is lying there with his arm over his eyes. He puts a hand up. "Ben, before you start - just give me some time, OK?"

I undress and slide in next to him, but when I go to put my arms around him, he pulls away. "Don't - not tonight." He rolls over and lies on the very edge of the bed. I know he's not asleep an hour later.

During the night, I wake to the sound of quiet sobbing. Again I want to put my arms around him, but am again rebuffed. He lets me rub his back, though. I don't think any words of mine can help him.

 

* * *

Much as Welsh and I feared, Ray withdraws into himself, refusing all efforts of mine to talk to him or to break him out of his misery. He won't eat, or go to therapy. He is much too thin to endure this for long. I call Dr Durand on the second day and tell her the situation, and receive a sound ticking off for not involving her earlier. "Ben, Ray is at a very fragile point in his recovery - how the hell did you think he would receive this?"

"I'm sorry - we just thought it would be better if he heard it from us."

"If this goes on much longer, I think you may have to consider having him committed - he could easily die otherwise."

"I promise you - I won't let it get that far. " I tell her what we have planned.

"It's risky, Ben."

"I know - but it's our only hope."

"Call me? Tell me the second it's over, or if you need me sooner." I promise to do so.

On the fifth day, I tell Ray that Welsh is coming over for lunch, but he is too apathetic to care. He looks ill, and he has hardly slept - Dr Durand is right, we should never have done this.

I let Welsh and our other guest in. Ray doesn't get up, but his head snaps up when he hears his voice called. "Officer Kowalski?"

"Beth? What....?" He gets up and grabs his coat. "I'm not staying for this." Welsh plants his considerable bulk in front of the door.

"Ray?" Beth comes up behind him, and he whirls to face her. "I've come 200 miles to see you - the least you could do is offer me lunch."

He wilts at this, and I take his coat from him and lead him to the table. I seat Beth Botrelle next to him. She has been well-briefed, and is as keen as we are that Ray does not suffer any more over this.

"Ray, the lieutenant's told me about Henderson. You got to believe me - none of this is your fault."

"Shit, Beth - you sit there like it was nothing I ruined your life for you."

"No, it wasn't nothing. It hurt like hell." His eyes meet hers, measuring the pain on her face and in her heart. "But I would be dead if one brave, stubborn cop hadn't stood up to his colleagues and the establishment and made them believe I was innocent. Believe me, Ray, when I tell you I do not want to be dead. And I don't want your death on my hands."

"It won't be."

"So why don't you eat? Why don't you go to therapy? Why are you lying awake at night crying your heart out?"

He lashes out at her, at us.

"Cos you're wrong, you're all wrong! You keep saying it wasn't my fucking fault, but it was. If I hadn't messed up with Jake's suicide note, you wouldn't have been in jail, Franklin wouldn't have been in jail, Mum and Dad would still be alive and I'd still be a cop. So get off my back, lady. It's my life - I'll do what I want with it." He refuses to look at her any longer.

Beth stands up. "Look at me, Ray Kowalski." Her voice is soft, but commanding. "Look. At. Me." Against his will, he lifts his head and does as she asks. "Now you listen to me, detective, and you listen to me good. You owe me. You owe me eight years of my life. You owe me five trips to the death room. Now I'm calling in the debt. You are going to live. You are going to get well. And you are going to stop making the people who love you suffer for your misplaced guilt. Do you acknowledge the debt you owe? Answer me, Kowalski."

He swallows. "Yes."

"Do you agree I have the right to ask for anything to cancel that debt?"

"Yes."

"Do you agree to my terms?" He doesn't answer. "Answer me, detective. You think it's easy - to write off those years? To say to myself, I will never regret that time again, if another person will live? I am giving that up, for you. Now do you accept my terms?"

"Yes," he whispers, and she goes to him and cradles his head in her arms, rocking him while he cries as if his heart will break. "Beth, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he sobs against her, and she soothes him, tears running down her own face. She looks at me, and then at Welsh.

"Thank you," I say softly. She plants a gentle kiss on the top of my lover's head.

"Ray? Honey? Come on, it's okay. I need lunch - it's been a long day. " He lets her lead him into the bathroom, where I know she washed his face and tidied him up, because he is clean and tear free when he comes out.

Beth looks pale, but happy at her victory. "Gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I could do with a drink."

I break out the Christmas scotch, and serve lunch. Ray eats, making sure Beth sees that he is doing so. It's not a comfortable meal to begin with, but the whisky loosens everyone up. I am glad to hear that Beth's new life is going well, and that she is in a steady relationship. She has to catch a train home, but before she leaves, she takes Ray into another warm embrace, stroking his face, and assuring him that she will be there if he needs her. Then she takes my hand. "Ben, you look after him. He's a good man."

"Yes, ma'am. I plan to." She and Welsh leave together.

"How do you feel, Ray?" I ask. He lets me hold him.

"Tired, " he admits. "I'm good."

"Go and have a nap. I'll join you soon." While he settles in the bedroom, I ring Dr Durand, who is very relieved.

"Will he come to therapy tomorrow?"

"Yes - he promised Mrs Botrelle, and Ray never breaks his word."

 

* * *

I slip into bed beside Ray, and for the first time in days, he does not resist my embrace. For all that, he is unresponsive, his face drawn and his closed eyes damp around the lashes. I stroke his cheek.

"Ray, you have to let this go."

"Ben, you got what you wanted. I'll be good, like I promised Beth."

I shake him a little. "Look at me, Ray." Surprised, he opens his eyes. "If you want to blame someone for what happened, blame me."

"No, Ben, that's ..."

"Stupid? But I feel as guilty as you do, probably more. I don't see why you get to have a monopoly on feeling bad in this household."

He frowns. "Is this some sort of weird psych game, Ben? Cos it ain't funny."

"What happened to you is at least as much my fault as it is yours. If I had asked you to stay in Canada, as I wanted to do, should have done, you wouldn't have been here to be kidnapped, and your parents would be alive. You think you made a mistake nine years ago - okay, so you did, even though you and I both know that the chances were that Franklin would have just found the suicide note and concealed it, and Beth would be dead, and no-one would be any the wiser. And if it had been any other rookie cop who found the note and either moved it or handed it over, Beth would still be dead. You made a forgivable mistake, and then you made up for it - all in the line of duty. But I have no excuse but cowardice. You shouldn't have been here to be abducted, if I had followed my heart. So please, blame me."

"Ben, you're wrong. How can this be your fault?"

"I told you why. I don't think I can ever forgive myself."

"But I forgive you, if there's anything to forgive. God, Ben, I never saw it like that."

"No, it doesn't work like that, Ray. I can't accept your forgiveness if you won't forgive yourself. How can I believe you?"

Ray is silent for a minute or two, then a grim smile twists his mouth. "You're a sneaky bastard, ain't ya?"

"Does the expression 'hoist with your own petard' mean anything to you?"

"Yeah, it does. Look, I know what you're saying, and I can accept it - in my head. I just need some time to let my heart know too."

I take his hand, and covering it with mine, I place it over his chest. "You have to make it understand, because I don't want it hurt. It belongs to me."

"Yes it does."

"Can I kiss you?"

He turns to me and meets my lips. I nuzzle at him. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

" 'kay". He is asleep very quickly.

 

* * *

For all that Beth's visit has retrieved Ray from the spiral of destruction he was headed on, there is still something missing from him, like a light has gone out. He dutifully attends therapy, eats everything put in front of him, acquiesces in every suggestion. But he never suggests anything himself. The cycle of his life is, to be sure, tedious, but try as I may, I fail to interest him in other activities. The day I finally realise how dusty and empty life has become to him, is on one Friday evening when I order pizza from Tony's. After taking delivery from Sandor, I see that the order is wrong.

"I'm sorry, Ray - there's no pineapple."

"Doesn't matter," he says with a total lack of interest, not even bothering look at me. Both Sandor and I stare at the back of him, as he sits watching television.

When Beth Botrelle rings a week later to see how Ray is coming along, I confide my concerns. She isn't surprised.

"Ben, that's what I was like when I got out of prison. You know, I had all these great plans - I was going to travel, I was going to go to all the restaurants I'd missed, see all the movies. But when it got right down to it, I couldn't do it - didn't feel I deserved it. I know that sounds stupid - but when you've felt bad for so long, feeling good is a little scary. It's safer with the bad."

"So how did you learn?"

"Richard. He came along and blasted me out of it - made me feel again. Not just love - love isn't everything, although you need it. He just blew my senses out, got me so used to enjoying things, that feeling bad was the exception, not the rule. Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Anything."

"How are things between you and Ray in bed, the sex, I mean?"

I cough. "Uh, we don't ... that is, we sleep together, but we don't ..."

"I think I get it. That's got to change for a start."

"Beth, the lieutenant told you what happened to Ray."

"Yes. You don't suppose I didn't meet rape victims in jail, do you? Some of them managed to have sex again. But you need to take away the fear, replace the bad memories."

"What do you suggest?"

She tells me what she thinks I could try, and one idea is surprising.

"Do you think that would work?"

"Worked for me. And Ben? You have to enjoy this too - doesn't work if only of you is getting into it. I think you could do with a little bit of light in your life too."

I thank her and she rings off. What she has suggested isn't difficult, and if I hadn't been raised so austerely, such things would come easily to me. However, I pride myself on learning fast, and with her ideas and what I can recall from Ray Vecchio's details of his techniques, I put together a shopping list. A long shopping list. I am, after all, nothing if not thorough.

 

* * *

Another Friday, another session with Dr Durand. I wonder if my life is ever gonna be more than counselling, and therapy and learning to deal with the hundred and one problems the attack has caused for me. Sometimes I think there's a sign around my neck that says "Ray Kowalski - Victim". I didn't used to be like this - I didn't depend on anyone, people depended on me, a cop. The biggest excitement for me in my life now is looking at the TV schedules to see if they're gonna rerun any of Steve McQueen's movies I aint seen a million times. Pathetic.

"Can't even jerk off anymore, " I tell Dr Durand - another sign of how low I've sunk - complaining to a lady doctor about masturbation. It's not like she doesn't know everything else about me, though.

"You mean you can't - or you don't want to?"

"Both - my hands are too clumsy, my dick don't work."

"Have you asked Ben to help you?"

"You see, that's the thing. Fraser's like my brother, or my mother - I can sort of remember wanting to have sex with him, but it's like it happened to someone else, you know? I'm sure he'd help, like the good little boy scout he is - but I don't even think about it."

She says what she always says, to give it time, and I'm too depressed to yell at her that I'm sick of waiting, sick of everything not working. I've done angry, and it doesn't help.

I'm in a lousy mood when the taxi drops me off at home. Ben said he wouldn't be able to pick me up like he normally does because he had some errands to run. But he's there when I unlock the door, and he gives me a warm hug, like he always does. Never get tired of those hugs. He can see I'm cranky, and strokes my forehead.

"Tired? " I nod, and throw my coat and keys on a chair. He picks up a plastic bag. "I hope you don't mind, but I got you something today." Fraser - bought me a gift? He gives me the bag, and I pull out three packages. I sit on a bar stool while he opens the first and largest one, and pulls out a green silk robe. I put a hand out to touch it.

"For me?" He nods, and then opens the second package. Silk boxers - same green as the robe. "You bought me underwear?"

"Do you mind, Ray?"

"No ... it's nice .. kinda weird though. No man's ever bought me underwear before."

He opens the third package - bath salts, a marine mix. "Why don't you go and have a hot bath, Ray, and put these on. " I let him push me towards the bathroom, while I wonder whether I'm in the Twilight Zone or not. Deciding that, yes, I am dreaming, and no, I don't want to wake up, I run a bath and use the salts. It's a really clean smell - the bottle says its good for tired muscles. That's me, one big tired muscle. I laze in the bath, thinking one of these days I'm gonna let Ben give me that back scrub he promised. I'm almost falling asleep, but the water's getting cold, so I get out before I turn into a popsicle. I see Ben's bought new towels - he's been a busy little Mountie. Something about new towels, especially bath sheets like these, that I really love. I put the boxers on - never had silk ones before - feels like I'm still naked, with everything swinging free, and where the material touches me, there's no roughness at all. The robe feels cool against my skin but warms up fast. It's the softest thing I've ever worn, and I can tell even without my glasses, that the green suits me.

I feel a bit self-conscious coming back into the living room, and stop dead. Ben's changed too - into a black silk robe like mine. My god, black is that man's colour. He's turned the lights down, and moved the sofa so the floor is cleared a little. There's music playing softly - something Latin. He comes over to me and takes me gently in his arms.

"You look very handsome, Ray. That colour makes your eyes seem so blue."

"You're not so bad-looking yourself, Fraser." His hands feel really hot through the silk, on my back. He's swaying slowly to the music. The way he's holding me feels - different - not like the reassuring way he usually hugs me. I shiver slightly.

"Are you cold, Ray?"

"No."

"Just relax. Tonight I want to treat you properly." One hand is around my waist, and the other on my back, and we are standing swaying together, almost like a slow dance. I can see he's lit candles here and there, and there are flowers - sunflowers - in vases around the room.

"Did you buy the flowers, Ben?" Stupid question.

"Yes. Do you like them?"

"Mmmm." They make the place look like a harem - musta cost a fortune, wrong time of year for them.

"Are you hungry?" I say I am. He leads me over to the table - where there's a bottle of red wine - Australian. Without a word he opens it and pours out two glasses. "I hope you like it - the man in the store assured me is was a particularly good one." He helps me get my fingers around the stem, then takes the other one.

"You don't drink, Ben."

"Well, now, Ray - there's a time and a place for everything." He sips it - the red of the wine only slightly darker than that of his lips. Now I know I'm dreaming - Fraser buying me underwear _and_ drinking actual alcohol. Well, there's no point fighting it. I taste the wine, and the flavour explodes on my tongue - a rich raspberry, with hints of spice.

"Wow!"

"You like it?"

"It's great."

He grins. Trust the non-drinker to come up with the best wine I've ever tasted. He stands up and kisses me - I can taste the wine on his lips. "I'm just going to put the steak on. It won't be long."

"I like mine well done, Ben."

"Right you are."

I watch him in the kitchen - wish I could see his ass better. The warmth of the wine has gone right to my toes, and between that and the bath, I'm feeling pretty loose. The music is a new CD - I like it, always liked Latin. A woman with a husky voice is singing in Spanish. Could be a love song - she could be singing the laundry list, but I don't think so. Sunflowers aren't the only flowers Ben's bought - there are poppies too, and on the table, a small vase of yellow and purple flowers I don't recognise. I give them a sniff, and nearly reel back. The smell is amazing. I sniff them again more carefully - how can such itty bitty things pack such a punch?

"Fraser, what are these?" I ask as he brings the food over.

"Freesias, Ray. Do you like them?"

"Yeah - potent little buggers, aren't they?"

"Like you, Ray." Well, what do you say to that? I look at the plate he's put down in front of me - simple stuff, fillet steak already cut up, a salady looking green thing, and baby potatoes. I hadn't even had an appetite when I got home, and now I'm starving.

"What's this?" I ask, poking the salad.

"Endive, Ray. I think you'll find it goes well with the meat." I try it - he's right. It's bitter, but it goes with the tender meat real well. The wine tastes even better with the food.

"Ben, I've had steak before, but this is great."

"Thank you, Ray." I wonder how this guy - who will put things in his mouth I wouldn't touch with a stick - knows so much about good food.

"The Vecchio family taught me quite a bit, and you know, I am not entirely without experience in these matters."

The delicious food is gone too quickly. He clears up, then puts a bowl of orange mush in front of me. I look at him, asking what it is.

"Mango sorbet - try it, I think you'll like it. I made it myself."

OK - two mysteries there - what the hell is mango sorbet, and how does Fraser know how to make it? I do as he suggests and try it, and realise immediately that I can never let this man out of my sight, because if I do, he might not make this again, and if he doesn't, I'll die. He laughs at the expression on my face.

"You like it?"

"Mmmp mmmm," not wanting to waste time talking when I could be eating this. If you could make sex as a dessert - this would be it. And it's not just the taste - the feel of it on my tongue is incredible - cold and slippery, but not like ice-cream. If I'm not careful, I could die of pleasure right here and now. It is a very sad moment when the bowl is empty.

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Promise you'll make that again?"

"Of course." I grin at him , and he laughs - I must look like Dief with a doughnut.

He makes us coffee and gets me over on the sofa. More food - some sort of chocolate cake. He knows I love chocolate.

"You're evil, Ben."

"You think?"

He wants me to let him feed me this stuff, so I let him. He slips the first forkful in, but then I wave my hands and make him stop.

"Something wrong, Ray." No - not wrong - just the opposite. What is this? It's bitter and rich, and a texture not like cake at all. I swallow and glare at him.

"What the hell is that?"

"Don't you like it, Ray?" He's worried.

"I don't like it - I _love_ it! Where did you get it?"

He smiles, relieved.

"It's a truffle torte. There's a French patisserie over by the Consulate which Constable Turnbull showed me, and he introduced me to this. It's rather good, don't you think?"

"Ben?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up and feed me some more of it, will ya?"

He sits there feeding me this amazing stuff, while I look at him - gorgeous in that black robe, which has fallen open so I can see the white skin of his chest, one of his nipples and the top of the matching boxers he's wearing. His skin looks soft - is soft, I know. His eyes look almost black in the low light. I feel myself harden slightly.

"Ben?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

"No, Ray."

"Oh." I must sound disappointed, because he kisses me softly, and licks a little of the chocolate from my lips.

"I just wanted to do something nice for you. Don't you like it?"

"Yeah - I do. Just not used to it, that's all."

"For that, I'm sorry. I realised I'd been neglecting you."

"You haven't been neglecting me, Ben - god, you spend all your time running around after me."

"No, I've been neglecting this," he puts his hand over my heart. "I want to give you pleasure. Will you let me, for tonight?" I nod against his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around me. I feel so relaxed - good food, warm arms, gentle music in the background. Haven't felt like this - well, maybe never. With Stella, it was me who did the pampering. Feels strange - nice - to be on the other end of it.

I run my finger down the opening of his robe. "So what's next, Ben?"

"Well, I thought I would give you a massage. " I stiffen up slightly, hating myself for doing it, but I can't help it.

"It's all right," he soothes. "Nothing will happen that you don't want. I want you to feel good."

"OK - I'd like that. Thanks."

He kisses my forehead gently.

"Why don't you get ready and come to the bedroom - I'll wait for you in there."

When I'm finished in the bathroom, I find Ben sitting on the bed and I notice he's put new sheets on. I touch them and look at him.

"They're linen, Ray - thought you might like the feel of them." I run my hands over the pillow case - they do feel good, smooth, but not silky.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Take off your robe and lie down - front or back, which ever you like." I slip the robe off, and lie face down - don't feel so exposed like that. He must have turned the heating up, because I don't feel cold. I hear him moving around, then he turns the bedside light off, leaving a half dozen or so small candles burning. Beeswax - and something else.

"What's that smell, Ben?"

"Sandlewood - do you like it?"

"It's nice."

I feel him sit on the bed next to me.

"Now, Ray, I'm going to put my hands on you - I want you to tell me if you want me to stop, or you don't like what I'm doing."

Ben has never put his hands on my naked back before, so I appreciate his warning me. But at the moment I feel so calm, and peaceful, that when his hands are on my shoulders, it's just another pleasant sensation to add to all the others he's let me feel tonight. His hands are warm, and strong, and they're loosening up tension in my neck that I didn't even know was there. And all the time, he's talking, in that smooth, honeyed baritone which made me fall in love with him in the first place.

"Your shoulders are well-formed, Ray. So broad for such a fine-boned man," he says as his hands knead my shoulder blades. "The skin of your back," he kisses me dead centre, " is white, like alabaster, but so warm to the touch. I could stroke your back forever, Ray, and never be satisfied. Your spine is so straight, so perfect," running a finger down it. "I want to touch you here, where your back meets your buttocks, in the little hollows of your hip. " He puts his lips on one and then the other, just above the boxers. I feel his hand run over the silk, but he doesn't linger. I feel him move down the bed, then his oiled hands are on my thighs, just beneath my ass.

"You have such long legs, Ray. I've always admired them. Always wanted to touch this muscle underneath, to feel the curve and the strength of them." He uses his thumbs to dig and knead, working his way slowly down to my knees. I feel I'm floating, drowning. All there is in the world is the feel of his hands, the sound of his voice. His hands are past my knees, on my calves now, and he gently raises my right leg so he can really work the muscle there.

"The hairs on your legs are like gold, so fine for a man. I love the way the candle light is picking them out. Your skin looks like cream." He moves to the other leg, and then to the foot, firmly kneading the sole. I moan in pleasure.

"You like that? Your feet are long, so slender, like you, with the arch curving so beautifully." He kisses the arch of my foot, and then the toes. "I wonder what you could do with your toes, given the inclination." It sounds like a come-on, but his tone is slow and even, worshipping my body. He urges me to roll over, which I just about manage - he's reduced me to a puddle of goo, and I no longer even think about how exposed I must look. All I want are his hands, all over me. His voice is massaging me as much as his fingers.

" 'S nice, Ben," I mumble.

"Good, Ray. If you want to go to sleep, you do that. This is all for you. Just relax. " Relax? If someone shouted 'Fire' in my left ear right now, I couldn't move. But I don't want to fall asleep, don't want this to end. He starts at my head. I can feel his thumbs gently, firmly on my forehead.

"Wanted to do this for the longest time, Ray," he murmurs. "Ever since I met you, I wanted to touch your face, even before I fell in love with you. Something about your eyes - did I ever tell you I love your eyes? The blueness of them, the dark generous lashes. I wanted to know what your beard would feel like against my lips." His thumbs are on my cheekbones, his other fingers massaging the side of my head. His hands move to my jaw, and down my neck.

"Your throat is so perfect, so long - not like a woman's. You are all male, Ray." He moves down my chest, to my nipples. He plays with them, and they harden under his touch. "You are very responsive, Ray. Such sensitive skin. Your nipples are the colour of cinnamon. I want to taste them - may I?" I give him a little nod, and then I feel his tongue move across one, then the other. I gasp. "Did I hurt you, Ray?

"No."

"Good. Don't want you to hurt. Want you to feel good, feel beautiful." His hands are back on my chest, running down my sides, then onto my stomach. He's very gentle, knowing we both just ate a big meal. His hands are just above my boxers, where my erection is pushing against them. He brushes his hand against it, and I gasp again.

"What do you want, Ray? Shall I take these off?"

"Yes, " I breathe, so relaxed I forget to be nervous, forget that Ben has never seen me naked before. He lifts my ass up with one hand and slips the boxers off and down my legs with the other.

"Are you OK?"

"Yes." I feel his hands on my lower belly, slipping into my pubic hair, gently tugging, kneading.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't stop."

He doesn't touch my dick, just rubs and kneads all around it, around the tops of my thighs. "You are more perfect than I imagined, Ray. Your hair here is darker than your head hair, but softer than I would have thought. May I touch you down here?" I nod again, and he nudges my thighs apart, and takes my balls in his hand, very carefully. I know if I open my eyes I will come just from seeing Benton Fraser, between my legs, holding me like that. He still doesn't touch my erection.

"What do you want?" he asks, and suddenly there's a tone in his voice I've never heard before - husky, sexy. I would be scared if I wasn't so damned loose and relaxed.

"Touch me," I ask, hardly believing I'm having this conversation. I used to fantasise about being in bed with him, but not like this - I couldn't have imagined this.

"How, Ray? How do you want me to touch you? With my hands, or with my mouth?"

"With your mouth," I barely manage to say. I feel him take my erection in his hand.

"You are so beautiful - your penis is a work of art. I want to taste it," Then I feel his hot mouth engulf me, and all the relaxation he has so carefully created flies out the window, as my hands grip the linen sheets, trying not to lift off the bed and choke him. All the time his mouth is working me, sucking, licking, one hand is on my balls, rolling them between finger and thumb, and the other hand is jacking me, a double assault on my poor dick. I feel like I'm going to overload from the sensations.

"Ben!" I scream, but he shows no mercy, and his mouth, his hands work faster, until I'm coming in his mouth, no time to warn him. My back which was arching off the bed in ecstasy, goes limp, and so does the rest of me. I feel like I could fall through the mattress, like a wet stain - my bones have disappeared.

My eyes are still closed, but I feel him move up beside me, a hand on my face, the other on my chest, rubbing in small circles, warm, still smooth from the massage oil.

"How do you feel, Ray?"

"I just ... I just feel. I can feel, Ben." He kisses me, long and deep. I can taste myself in his mouth - guess that won't gross him out, not with what he's used to tasting. I realise that I have done nothing for him, and reach for him, with arms that feel like lead.

"It's OK, Ray. This is for you. Just relax." I flop back. He keeps soothing, rubbing my chest, rubbing his face against mine. I've died and gone to heaven for sure.

"Love you, Ben," I mumble. The last thing I remember before I fall asleep is him saying "Love you too, Ray."

 

* * *

As I hoped he would, Ray has slept very deeply and quietly all night. I slip out around 5.00 am to let Dief relieve himself, but he has to forgo a walk, because I want to be in bed when Ray wakes up. He looks utterly entrancing, a slight smile on his lips, so much happier than the tired, sad man who came through the door last night. I wonder if he realises how much I appreciated his trust, his giving himself to me last night. The look of him, relaxed and supple in the candlelight, his desire for me plain, will warm my memory until the day I die. I put my arms around him, and hold him for nearly two hours, not wanting to sleep, just wanting to look my fill of him. Finally he stirs, and I kiss him on the lips.

"Mmmm. Morning, lover."

The word thrills me.

"Hello, Ray. How are you feeling?"

He stretches and wriggles in my arms, assessing his body.

"Damn good, Ben. Best I've felt in months, maybe years. Last night was wonderful. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, I assure you."

"You went to a lot of trouble for me."

"You deserve it. I wish I'd done it sooner."

"I was saying to Dr Durand that you were like a brother to me."

I roll him over, and lick his neck up to his mouth. "I don't want to be your brother, Ray."

"No... I get that now, Ben." He lets me deepen the kiss, his tongue questing in my mouth, and I can feel him thrusting against me. "You still got your boxers on, Ben. Take 'em off." I do as he commands, and then he sits up and pushes the covers away so he can see me. He shakes his head.

"Oughtta be a crime, hiding that beautiful dick. Let me see all of you." I oblige him by spreading my legs, my burgeoning erection making my feelings plain. "You never put any pressure on me all these months - how were you taking care of yourself?"

"Well, you know, Ray - the usual way." I can feel myself going red, and there's a feral look in those blue eyes.

"Show me," he whispers.

I can refuse him nothing, of course. I take my erection in my hand and stroke slowly, noting his breathing rate increase, and his eyes dilating with desire, as he watches. I can see that he has also become erect. I turn into him, and rub my penis against his, making him moan. "May I? " I ask.

"Anything, " he says throatily. I push our penises together and grasp them both with my hand, stroking them at the same time. He yelps.

"Jesus, Ben!" But the cry is one of pleasure not pain - he arches his throat back in ecstasy, so I lick it, and bite at the hollow of his neck, as I continue to stroke, increasing the rate. I can feel my climax building, but I want him to come with me, so I watch his breathing so I can judge when he is also close. Then I move my hand a little faster, until he comes with a soft cry. I take my hand away and rub his back, as he is trembling.

"OK, Ray?"

"Christ, Ben, where did you learn to do that?" His eyes are closed, but his face is a picture of sated pleasure.

"Videos are a wonderful educational resource, Ray," I say solemnly.

His eyes spring open.

"You're kidding!"

"Yes, Ray."

He groans.

"That's all I need - a lover with a sense of humour." But he's smiling - god, I've missed his smiles. He looks down at our semen-spattered stomachs. "Shower, now."

"Would you like me to scrub your back?" I ask, hoping his response will be different than the last time I asked.

"You better, Fraser, or you're a dead man."

Showering with Ray, as with so much over the past 24 hours, is a novel and pleasurable experience. The luxury of having permission to touch that beautiful body, to give him pleasure, is a gift beyond price. I wrap him in one of the towels I bought. He fingers it as I dry him.

"Why did you buy all the new stuff, Ben."

"Well, two reasons really. I thought you'd enjoy the feel, and my main aim was, and is, to make you feel good. But the second reason was that I hoped we might be going to enter a new stage in our relationship last night - which we did."

"So it was like, symbolic or something?"

"Yes - a new beginning for us."

He snuggles into my embrace.

"I'm really glad you're not my brother, Ben, cos if you were, what I want to do to you would be against the law. Besides, my brother's a prick. And you're not."

"What am I, then?"

He puts his arms around me, and looks into my eyes. "You're my best friend, and I love you."

"Thank you kindly, Ray."

He dresses again in the new robe, and insists I wear mine also. There is something very decadent about wearing silk, especially in the morning, but it suits our mood. But as I start to make French toast for breakfast, he calls out, "You gonna wear that robe while you cook? You'll get it all messy."

I come out from behind the counter and stand in front of where he is sitting.

"You're quite right, Ray." Then I shuck the robe off, and drop it onto a chair. Any momentary embarrassment I feel, is more than compensated for by the delicious shock on his face.

I go back and try to complete the meal, but he comes up behind me, and attempts, with some success, to drive me insane by rubbing himself through the silk robe against my bare buttocks.

I push him back, and he protests. "Hey, Ben, that's not buddies."

"Easy for you to say - it's not your genitals that are mere inches from a pan full of hot fat."

"Stop cooking then and come to bed."

I twist in his arms and face him. " Oh no, Ray," I say, wagging the spatula at him, "I've only just got you into the habit of eating breakfast."

"We only just got in the habit of making love."

"I've created a monster," I groan.

"Yeah, a man-eater," he growls at me.

Fortunately, I manage to exercise enough self-control to actually get the food on the table. I cover myself back up - no point in tempting fate.

As we eat breakfast, his eyes keep drifting over to the sunflowers around the room.

"I really like those, Ben. Reminds me of Van Gogh."

"I thought they might - you did mention you liked paintings, and you seemed to know the Dutch artists. Have you heard about the new exhibition at the art gallery? There are quite a few Impressionists, and I believe they may have one or two Van Gogh's."

He shakes his head. "Haven't been to the gallery in years. Stella and I used to go, but then I never went on my own - never had the time, with the job and all that."

"Would you like to go today?"

His face lights up.

"That'd be cool."

As we walk around the gallery, Ray talking knowledgeably and at length about the paintings, I realise how remiss I have been in not feeding his spirit, so intent have I been in getting him well in body. Not every one can live the sort of Spartan existence I am used to, and in reality, it has done me very little good. Ray spoke nothing but the truth when he once said he was a poet on the inside. The attack has made him lose touch with that, with his enjoyment of sensual pleasures, and I now make my very pleasant mission to help him regain this.

We eat lunch in the gallery cafe, and I refrain from mentioning that it is the first time since he left hospital that he has allowed himself to eat in public. He eyes the desserts carefully.

"Is there something in particular you're looking for, Ray?"

"Just looking to see if they have that truffle torte thingy," he says innocently, but his grin is anything but innocent.

"Behave yourself," I whisper in his ear mock fiercely, "or I'll have to teach you a lesson when we get home."

"Oooh, Ben, beat me with a wet noodle, why dontcha?"

"You know, there are words for people like you."

"Yeah, but you're too polite to say 'em out loud."

"You really are incorrigible." I say ruefully.

"That's me."

As we eat lunch I ask him if he ever studied art.

"Yeah, at college, before I dropped out. Never did any actual painting myself - thought I might like to try it one day. But now..." he holds up his hands, "I guess I won't get the chance."

"I don't see why not - after all people who have no hands at all have become quite well-known artists. I suspect you would be quite good, if you were to take it up."

"You think so? Well, maybe I'll give it a try."

"Do or don't do - there is no try."

He gapes at me. "Ben, tell me there's acid in my coffee or something - did you just quote Star Wars?" I nod.

"Do I want to know how you even _heard_ of them movies living on an ice-flow?"

"It's quite simple, Ray - while I was in Chicago before, I did a lot of baby-sitting. The Star Wars films do seem to have been a favourite with the Vecchio children."

Ray sighs. "Tell me then, how is it in all the time you lived down here, I couldn't get you to learn even one piece of American slang, and yet you can quote Master Yoda from memory?"

"I always thought the films of George Lucas were interesting from the philosophical point of view..."

He raises a hand. "Forget I asked."

"Understood."

"I'm beginning to think I don't know the first thing about you, Ben."

"Does that bother you, Ray?"

"No - it's kinda nice - like a Christmas present that goes on and on, and you don't even need batteries. "

"You know, that is very possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

He shrugs, but is pleased. "You need to get out more, then."

There's just one problem being at the art gallery - neither one of us want to keep our hands off the other. By the time we get home, Ray is practically tearing my clothes off me, or would be if he could manage it. I'm used to being the object of casual desire and lust, but I have never been treated to quite this level of intensity, of sheer need. He wants to do something for me, and for all the disadvantages of his injuries, there is nothing wrong with his mouth, or his strong mobile tongue, with which he reduces me to a whimpering mess. He looks disgustingly self-satisfied, kneeling between my legs.

"I really needed to do that."

"Glad ... glad to be of assistance," I manage to croak out, sprawled bonelessly on the sofa where he launched his attack.

"No, I mean it - I mean, you look after me, you cook, you clean, you treat me good. I have to know I can give you something back."

I'm still reassembling my brain cells, but this is too important to ignore.

"Ray,  whether or not you 'do' anything for me in bed, you are an equal partner with me. You don't realise how much you give to me."

"But I can't do _anything_..."

"Do you have any idea what my life was like in Ottawa - or in the consulate for that matter? How empty, how lonely it was? Even before we became lovers, even before I fell in love with you, I craved you, craved your company. Not because it was just someone to talk to - it was because of you, your energy, your interests, your view on things. Look at Dief - he gets on with most people, but he adores you. Because he, as do I, know how special you are."

"So how could you turn me down, when I told you how I felt?"

"I was a fool. I was scared of people's reaction to us, but most of all I was scared of what might become of me if I gave myself over to my emotions - I nearly lost myself before by doing that. I was too stupid to see that there is a crucial difference between you and ... "

"Victoria," he supplies.

"Yes. The difference is, I can trust you with my very soul. So please don't start berating yourself about all the things you can't do for me - all that matters to me is that you do all the right things, instinctively. And that will never change."

"Ben, you know what you said about what I said being the nicest thing any one had ever said to you? Goes double for me."

"Well, Ray, if I ever give you cause to doubt it, please feel free to kick me in the head. I understand your feet work just fine."

"That they do, Benton-buddy. Now what was that you said about my toes...?"

 

* * *

Although I'm not due to see her, I run into Dr Durand at the hospital when I turn up on Monday for water therapy.

"Do I need to ask you to take a urine test, Ray, or did you get laid?" I just grin wider. "You did, you little devil," she says with delight.

"I got kinda ambushed when I got home on Friday."

"Ben?" I nod. "That's wonderful. Now I can make your day even better by telling you I've decided to cancel your standing appointments with me."

"Huh? Why?"

"Don't be alarmed. I just feel we have gone as far as we can now without making your life a misery. My last instruction is to go out and enjoy yourself, and especially spend a lot of time making love to that beautiful man of yours. Think you can manage that?"

"Uh, I think I might be able to." I think the bashful effect is spoiled by the shit-eating grin, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"OK then. I think you could take a break from the physical therapy for a while too - think of it as a vacation - just as long as you stay active, and do your exercises at home. But you can always ring me, or come and see me, if you want to talk about anything specific. Maybe you could come anyway, after a couple of months, just so I can see how you're getting on. Oh, and another thing - I've got a name of a surgeon who specialises in hand injuries such as yours. I think it would be worth getting a second opinion."

She sees me off after therapy telling me to go and have fun. I'm going to enjoy telling Ben all of this - first time I ever heard of a doctor prescribing sex.

 

* * *

"She really said that?"

"Word of honour, Ben."

"Well, I don't know, Ray. You know what they say about 'everything in moderation'." I love it when he's trying not to smile.

"Huh, well, if you won't help me take my medicine, I'll find someone who will."

"You even try, Ray Kowalski, " he growls at me, making my spine tingle, "and I will handcuff you to the bed."

"Promises, promises, Ben."

He's really pleased about the idea of me seeing another surgeon. "Have you given any thought about what you would like to do, if the board approves your medical retirement?"

"Most ex-cops go into the private dick business. I don't see that for me - I mean, Ray Kowalski, the defective detective?"

"Perhaps the lieutenant could make a few suggestions - perhaps consulting work."

"That might work."

 

* * *

"Ray I've been thinking...."

"Uh oh, dangerous...."

"Ray...." I warn. "I was thinking we really ought to modify your car, so you can steer with one hand. There are several modifications designed for disabled drivers, and if you are going to get work, you need a car."

"What about you - when you start at the consulate again?" With a great deal of arm-twisting, begging and several volumes of good words from Lieutenant Welsh, I have managed to regain my old post, and can relinquish my Ottawa position with no regret at all.

"I can walk - would prefer to, actually. I'm getting sadly out of shape."

"Oh yeah, Ben, I can really tell," he says sarcastically.

"Can I help it if you have low standards?"

After supper, I tell him I have another surprise for him. "It's in the bedroom ... oh, please, get your mind out of the gutter, Ray, " I complain at his sly look. He walks in with me.

"That's an easel, Ben."

"Are you sure you don't want to be a private eye, Ray - your powers of observation are truly overwhelming."

"Hardy ha ha. What's this all about?" I place the large block of artists paper on the easel, and produce my other purchases. He runs an appreciative hand over the large size pastels, the various charcoals and other drawing materials. "This is the good stuff, Ben - what's it for?"

"You, Ray."

"Not funny, Ben."

"It's not meant to be amusing - here, see?" I unwrap one of the jewel coloured chalks, which are nearly an inch in diameter, and show him how easily he can hold it. "It doesn't matter if you can't do fine detail - you can draw large scale."

"But I can't draw."

"Everyone can draw, and you have such an appreciation of art, I'm sure you have a natural talent. No-one taught me, but I can give you a few pointers if you like. All that matters is that you enjoy it. You can play with these - who cares what the results are? And it's easier than painting, to start with."

He is enchanted by the colours, and I can see he really wants to try. "We could move the bed, give you space in here. You need good light. " He nods, still looking at the box of chalks.

"And if you want to draw a nude, I'm always happy to be a life subject." That gets his interest, most certainly. That's my Ray for you.

 

* * *

The surgeon is a dapper Englishman called Peters. He looks at the X-rays of Ray's hands, and to our delight, says that he thinks that he might be able to effect a great deal of improvement.

"Now, you won't be restored to normal - that is too much to ask, given the degree of damage. But I think you will see much more mobility - the quality of life should be improved."

Ray asks, "But doc,...."

Dr Peters interrupts and says severely, "Young man, if you are going to ask me if you will still be able to play the violin, I have to tell you - I've heard the joke before. Believe me, I've heard the joke."

"No, actually, what I wanted to know was, will I be able to play the pink oboe again?"

Dr Peters looks at him in amazement, and then chortles, to my complete mystification. "Mr Kowalski, I'm somewhat surprised you have any unmet needs in that department, especially with such a good looking... oboist... sitting next to you. I'm sure he can perform on any wind instruments you may need ... blowing." He and Ray look at each other with the most salacious grins I've ever seen on two adult men, and then at me. The penny drops and I can feel myself blush to the roots of my hair. Dr Peters takes pity on me and calls the consultation to an end, promising to arrange the surgery without delay.

I stalk out of his office without a backwards look.

"Hang on Fraser, I can't walk that fast, " Ray calls. I ignore him. "You're really pissed, ain't ya?" I turn and glare at him, but I can't say I see any contrition in his sparkling eyes. "You're so cute when you blush, you know that?"

"Ray, you're in really big trouble," I say, then I walk off. Unfortunately, this does not quell him at all, and he entertains himself with regrettably erotic fantasies about how I might punish him, all the way home. Only my innate respect for the law, and a frankly uncomfortable erection stops me from pulling the car over and strangling him.

I let him out of the car at the apartment block. "You know Ray - you have a one track mind, did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Did anyone ever tell you that you should loosen up?"

"This isn't about me being loose - it's about the proprieties."

"What can I say - I'm a one man sex machine." That gives me an idea. For the rest of the day, I am as sweet as pie, and especially attentive, rubbing up against Ray, touching him just where he likes it. It doesn't surprise me in the least when he asks if we can go to bed early, but I pretend I don't know why, and dally and delay until he more or less orders me to get into the bedroom. He lets me strip him, and massage him in the way he most enjoys. I slowly work my way down to his penis, but don't touch it, and rub his testicles and around his genitals until he is moaning continuously, begging me to do more. When I am quite certain he is at fever pitch, I stand up.

"What the....?"

"Could you excuse me, Ray? Dief - watch him."

"Watch him?" Ray's voice squeaks. "Fraser - get your ass back over here, now."

"Now, Ray, I don't think that's a very polite way of speaking to your partner. I'll be back in a few minutes. "

"Fraser!"

"Hush, Ray. I've asked Dief to watch you so that you don't attempt to assist yourself. I should be very cautious if I were you - he has a tendency to grab a suspect by whatever appendage he can easily reach, and we wouldn't want you to get hurt, would we?" From long practice I know my expression is entirely innocent. Ray, on the other hand, is red-faced with fury and unrelieved need.

"Fraser! You can't do this. Is this your idea of a joke?" he shouts.

"No, Ray." And with that I slip out.

I calculate that Ray's overactive imagination and total lack of knowledge of the real habits of wolves will be more than enough to stop him from trying to remedy his situation, so I give myself a couple of minutes while I compose myself, and even then I'm biting on a cushion to stop the laughter rocketing out as I listen to Ray alternatively begging me to let him come and pleading with Dief.

I stroll back in as nonchalantly as I can manage. Ray hasn't moved, but there are tears of frustration on his cheeks. I stand in the doorway and watch him.

"You know, Ray, you really do look very inviting like that." Indeed, he does make a beautiful picture, and I have to control myself or I will throw myself on him.

"OK, so come over and do something about it." He wriggles and Dief barks, so he stops, a look of apprehension in his eyes.

"Oh no, Ray, I don't think so. And unlike you, I can take care of myself." I take hold of my erection, watching his eyes grow big.

"You wouldn't dare....!"

Unfortunately for Ray, I am well aware that he is not able to climax without the touch of either hand or mouth - information I plan to use to my advantage.

"You see, Ray, I can stroke myself, like this," showing him," and I can touch my nipples until they are hard under my fingers. I don't have to imagine how good it feels when I do this. Wouldn't it be nice if I were to hold you like this, and put you in my mouth, and suck you nice and slow, and lick...."

"Fraser! Stop that, you're driving me crazy!"

I ignore him. I let my hands work a little faster. His erection looks positively painful, bobbing with his heart beat. I moan a little, for effect, and watch his penis jump.

"Fraser! Come on! I'm dying here!"

"Not so fast, Ray. I have something to take care of first." I move in a little, and he can see how close I am. I let him watch as I bring myself to completion, his eyes now like saucers.

"Do me now, do me now," he pleads.

"One moment, Ray. I think you have something to say to me."

"What, Fraser? You want to talk? You want me to beg? What?"

"I want you to apologise."

"I'm sorry, Fraser, I'm sorry for everything I've ever done to ya in my whole life. Now do something!"

I shake my head. "No, Ray, that's not good enough." I run my fingernail up the underside of his penis and he yells. "I want you to repeat after me..."

"I'm gonna kill you, Fraser...."

"Now, Ray, I don't think that's a good idea - Diefenbaker's still watching you."

"I'm gonna kill you *and* the fucking wolf, OK?"

"I want you to repeat after me, " I say again in my most reasonable voice.

"OK, you win. What?"

"Say, 'I will never again...'

"I will never again..." he manages, between gritted teeth

" 'Make lewd and lascivious references in front of my partner' "

" 'Make lewd and lascivious references in front of my partner' - you were _really_ pissed, weren't ya?"

I ignore that. "'Make lewd and lascivious references in front of my partner in the presence of an orthopedic surgeon'...."

"In the presence of an orthopedic surgeon' ... you're a bastard, Fraser."

"So help me, God."

"So help me ... Oh God!" he yelps as I seize his erection and start to jack it slowly and then faster. He is wriggling and moaning and comes within a few seconds. I pick up the towel we keep in the bedroom for such purposes and wipe us off, then move up the bed, and kiss him.

"Can I move now? " I nod. He rolls quickly and pins me under him. "You're a complete turd, you know that, Benton Fraser? I'm gonna cut your balls off with a blunt rusty knife."

"The day you can hold a knife well enough to do that, Ray, you're welcome to try."

"Bastard." There's no animosity in his tone. He kisses me, and we snuggle together, his anger forgotten in the afterglow of his orgasm.

"Using a wolf as a sex toy, Ben - that's not very Mountie-like."

"Worked, didn't it?"

"He wouldn't have really..."

I look at him and give him my most solemn look. "Well now, Ray, one can never be sure." He swats me.

I'm curious about one thing. "That expression - the pink oboe - where did you acquire it?"

"Oh that - you remember that guy I told you about, from Scotland Yard? He gave me a tape from England, with some comedy stuff on it."

"Oh - what was it called?"

"It's Peter Cook. Tape's called 'The Secret Policeman's Ball'. It was a charity thing for Amnesty International."

"That's a strange name for a comedy tape."

"Well, you see it's a joke - you know, the secret policeman's ball, so the next one was called...." His voice trails off.

"What was it called?"

He mutters something.

"What was that, Ray ? I didn't catch it."

"'The Secret Policeman's Other Ball.' " To my delight, he has turned absolutely scarlet. He is inexplicably embarrassed, and so winsome with it, that the laughter I had successfully kept under wraps all this time, comes bubbling up until I'm giggling helplessly. Ray looks totally bewildered at his Mountie lover gone mad. Dief is simply disgusted at the antics of his humans.

"You're a freak, Ben."

"So I've been told," I gasp out.

"And a mean, sadistic son of a bitch."

"Yes, Ray. Just as long as I'm *your* mean, sadistic son of a bitch." Ray's eyes grow big again.

"Did you just swear, Ben? Cos, if you did, all that stuff I was saying about you loosening up - you know you don't have to do it all at one time. It'll take a bit of getting used to."

I hold his head and kiss him. "You're a bad influence on me, Ray."

"Good."

 

* * *

Ray takes to the easel like a duck to water. Even his first attempts are astonishingly good, and within a week he has produced a picture so beautiful - a study of the sunflowers I bought - that I insist on having it framed and hanging it on our bedroom wall. Ray doesn't want it in the living room.

"Why not, Ray - it is really very good."

"Because, you dummy, every time I look at it, I'll think about you, and that'll distract me."

"Oh, so you only think about me when you see sunflowers?"

"Yeah - and when I see that black robe of yours, or something red, or every time I take a breath."

"Gee, Ray, you say the nicest things."

"Gonna let me draw you soon?"

"Won't that distract you even more?"

"And your point is what, Ben?"

Dr Peters schedules the first operation for two weeks ahead. There will be two per hand, two months apart, and he will do one hand at a time, to prevent Ray from being totally dependent on me. I will be returning to work a week before the operation, and fortunately Ray now copes well with day to day tasks. His newly found love of drawing will be impeded for a time, but there is every likelihood that his ability to hold pen and pencil, or even paintbrushes, will be much improved after the operations.

I had been worried that going back to work would make Ray feel abandoned, but he has become so confident that I knew it was time to give him the space to explore other interests. I will admit to a definite feeling of satisfaction in coming home and being jumped by a tall, handsome lust-ridden Chicago cop as soon as I walk through the door.

"Missed you, missed you, missed you," he chants, encouraging me to get my tunic off, and fiddling at my fly. My attempts to tell him that the feeling is mutual are frustrated in the nicest possible way by his lips and his tongue in my mouth.

Later, lying sated, flushed and sweaty on the bed, I turn to him.

"Hello, Ray. How was your day?"

"Great, now, thank you. And yours?"

"Highly enjoyable. Shall I make supper now?"

"I already had my starter, Ben."

As I cook, he tells me he has spent the day absorbed in a new project - trying to draw Dief. He's finding it hard, but I explain that animals are particularly difficult to capture.

"Would classes help?"

"Possibly - I think you'd enjoy them anyway."

He gives that some thought while I dish up.

"Never been good at school."

"It's not as if there's an exam at the end of it - you'd do it to learn a new skill."

"Guess I need to learn some new tricks, if I can't be a cop any more."

"Life-long learning is a good thing in itself, Ray."

The first week I am back at the Consulate goes well, and Ray is happy and enthused every evening when I get back. But on Friday, when I am looking forward to spending two whole days with him, I know there is something wrong as soon as I open the door. For one thing, I am not bowled over as has become his habit. I find him sitting on the sofa, absently stroking Dief, with tear marks on his face. I sit next to him and take him into my arms.

"What's wrong?" He shakes his head against me, and points to the coffee table. There is a letter sitting there - from Ray's brother in Arizona, on official company letterhead. A month ago, Ray asked me to write him out a letter to ask his brother how he had disposed of his parents' ashes - this must be the reply. Taking Ray's manner as permission, I read it, and feel a bubble of anger filling within my chest. I want to take the filthy thing and tear it into a million pieces, and it is as well that Peter Kowalski did not choose to impart his sentiments in person, because I would be guilty of serious assault, if I had my hands on him now. I don't know what makes me more angry - what he actually said, or the fact he has chosen to convey these venomous words through the medium of the secretary who typed it and whose initials are at the top of the letter.

I kiss him and cradle him. "Ray, that is inexcusable. Nobody should have to receive that kind of letter, and certainly not from a brother." It's a measure of how deeply he is hurt that he isn't angry. With Ray, some things go past anger and straight into depression - I saw that over Stella.

"He's right, though, isn't he? If Mum and Dad hadn't come back here to be with me, they wouldn't be dead. If I hadn't been a cop, they wouldn't be dead. And they would wanted to have their ashes scattered in Arizona when they died - if they hadn't come back to Chicago."

"No, Ray. He's wrong, and he's cruel, and I won't allow you to let him bury you in his blame and guilt. Your parents came back out of love for you, a perfectly proper emotion. This," I flick the letter, "is unworthy of a brother. To blame someone who has gone through what you have been through is despicable - I know your parents wouldn't accept his behaviour for one second."

"Well, you see, that's the thing. They 're not here to ask any more." He begins to shake, and as I hold him tighter, his tears begin to flow again. He is totally silent in his grief, but it is raw and powerful for all that. I curse his brother in my mind, torn between anger at what he has done, and overarching worry for what this will do to Ray's recovery. His parents' death is just one more item in the catalogue of horrors, but until now, it has been overshadowed by other things, other griefs.

When I feel him settle, I wipe his face, and he rests against me for a long time. At last he sits up, and tries to restore normality.

"You want to order pizza?"

"In a minute, Ray. I suggest we get rid of the trash first." He looks at me puzzled, still a little foggy from his crying bout. I fetch a metal bowl from the kitchen, place the offensive item in it, and hand him one of my waterproof matches.

"This an emergency, Ben?" he tries to joke.

"Nothing could be more serious, or important, than destroying this immediately." I light the match for him, and put it between his fingers, and then he set the paper aflame in the bowl. He watches it in silence, then follows me over to the sink, where I crush the ashes to dust, and wash it down the drain, even scrubbing the bowl for maximum symbolism. Ray watches all of this intently. When I am done, he stares at the empty sink.

"I really fucking hate my brother," he says quietly.

"I know how you feel, Ray. Me too."

He jerks round in surprise.

"You don't hate anyone, Ben - you forgive everybody."

I shake my head. "No, you're wrong. There are some people I hate - a short list, I admit, but I will and could never forgive them."

"Who?"

"The man who killed my father - Gerrard. Muldoon. Henderson. The men who assaulted you. And Peter."

"Not Victoria?"

"No, I bear some responsibility for what she became, and I think in the end, she couldn't help herself. But the others - they did what they did in cold blood, they have hurt the innocent for nothing but the pleasure of causing pain, or for mere profit."

Ray is thoughtful for a long time after that. I order the pizza but he doesn't have much of an appetite, and for once, I let his not eating slide. What has happened is a terrible blow, after all. I clear up and then take my place next to him, cuddling him, trying to show that he is loved, worthy of love, with my actions and my words.

"Been thinking I wanted to, you know, do something like take flowers to the grave or something. Except there's no grave.  I mean, I missed the funeral and all that - I just got the bad bit of seeing them being killed, never got to say goodbye. But there's nowhere to go - nowhere to focus."

"Perhaps some place from the past - somewhere you were all together?"

He shrugs. "Maybe."

He is subdued the rest of the evening, and I give him a massage which, for once, does not lead to sex. He wakes in the night, with nightmares, and I hold him until he falls back asleep.

He is a little brighter at breakfast, but still quiet. I am trying to think of some activity which will coax him back into a happier frame of mind when he cuts into my reverie.

"There's a church." He stops, embarrassed. I encourage him with an enquiring look, so he takes a deep breath, and continues.

"When we were kids ... we're Catholic you see, there's this little church down in the old neighbourhood. Mum and Dad used to take us to Mass there ... dunno if it's there any more. And I was thinking, maybe I could light a candle for them or something. It's stupid, I know." He hangs his head down, but I gently raise it with my fingers under his chin.

"Would you like to drive over there - see if it's still standing?" He nods, and I can see he's grateful, if still somewhat embarrassed. His embarrassment puzzles me - I am surprised to learn Ray was, if not now, a Catholic, but otherwise his impulse is a sound one.

The church is still there, a small stone building tucked in between taller buildings. It's dark and quiet, with only a few soft lights relieving the gloom. Ray walks up the side aisle, looking at the religious pictures on the walls, occasionally touching a carving. I follow behind, not certain if this is helping him or not. Finally he takes a seat in a pew, near the front of the church. I sit next to him and wait for him to speak. The air is heavy, still, and the oak doors effectively cut out the street sounds. It is like we are in a timeless zone - we could step out of this building and it could be the 18th or the 22nd century, but this room, this church, would never change. Ray has his eyes closed, his breathing is slow and even, almost as if he were meditating. It is very peaceful in here, and although I've never been one for church-going, I can begin to understand the appeal of the buildings themselves.

"Used to hate going to Mass," he says quietly. "Used to have to put my best clothes on, and sit still for what felt like forever. And it was always so hot, cos the place would be full. But then we'd go home, and have Mum's Sunday lunch, and then Dad and us would play ball in the park.  When they were in Arizona, if I used to think of 'home', this place always flashed up. Stopped going to Mass when I was sixteen - didn't believe in it anymore, and I was too old for them to make me go. Mum and me had a big fight about it, she thought I was gonna go to hell if I stopped. Then we didn't talk about it no more. I think Dad used to go to keep her happy."

He gets up and walks down the centre aisle, to the back of the church where the votive candles are. "I remember Mum coming in here when her sister died, and every year after that .  She told me she used to light candles for me, to keep me safe. Didn't work, did it?" His voice is shaking slightly, but he is otherwise under complete control. I watch him as he drops some coins into the honesty box, and takes two candles. He lights them from one that is already alight, and fumbles as he tries to set them upright on the stand. I reach forward and hold his hand, and together we place them in position. He steps back, and looks at them. I see his lips moving. Then he turns to me.

"Saying goodbye, " he says briefly, then he slips his hand discreetly into mine. I squeeze it, and in deference to our surroundings, move my hand up to a more companionable grip on his arm. The bright sunshine is a shock after the dimness of the church.

"A nice day, after all, " I say conversationally.

"Ben? Why don't we go somewhere - I mean - for the weekend, out of the city? Been stuck in the apartment for weeks."

"Good idea. We could take sketch pads with us." That brings out the first real smile I've seen on Ray's face since I got home last night.

"Nude studies?"

"One track mind, Ray."

The weekend up by the lake recharges us both, and by the time we return late Sunday evening, Ray is once again more cheerful, although a trace of his sadness shadows his eyes. I am pleased at how he has handled this fresh, unasked for blow, and hope it bodes well. There are many more potential problems to come - at the very least, the trial of Henderson and his underlings promises to be an ugly affair.

There is also the hand surgery to undergo. Ray is surprisingly nervous about it, even though it will only mean an overnight stay.

"Don't like hospitals, Ben, you know that."

"Well, Ray, I could ask Dr Peters to cut up your hand on the dining table here, but I'm sure you'd only complain about the ointment I'd apply afterwards."

He makes a face.

"You're one sick puppy, Fraser."

"Yes, Ray. Anyway, after you get home, I get to look after you - you'll enjoy that, won't you?"

"Just you wait until these ops are over, Ben - can't wait to take care of _you_." I don't think I'll tell him just yet how much _I've_ been looking forward to that - we'll have to see how successful the operations are.

We've arranged for the surgery to take place on Saturday, so that I can be with Ray all day. The operation takes place in late morning, and Ray is brought back to his room within three hours. His left hand is heavily bandaged, and a cast will be put on it before he leaves the following day. I watch him awake from the anaesthesia.

"Hi."

He gives me a crooked smile. "Hey, Ben - I made it."

"Well, of course you did, Ray. How do you feel?"

"Ain't feeling no pain."

"Good. Why don't you get some more sleep?"

"I can do that," he mumbles. He sleeps for another two hours, and is much more alert the second time. He rejects the hospital's idea of supper, but welcomes the Smarties I brought in, just in case.

" I'm _never_ gonna eat another hospital meal, Ben - I swear." I grimace.

"I know the feeling, Ray - after I spent six weeks in the hospital, even the police station canteen food looked good."

"That bad, huh?"

He gets more comfortable and I give him some water. "Ben, I've been thinking about Mum and Dad. You know Peter wouldn't take the insurance - gave it all to me, said it was blood money."

"Yes, something else I find reprehensible."

"Yeah, well, I had this idea. I don't want it either - I mean, I'm gonna support myself, don't want to be making a profit off their being killed. So I was thinking - what about a scholarship at the university? My Dad was so cranky about me dropping out - so it would be kinda like making that up to them."

My partner never ceases to surprise me. "That is a truly wonderful idea, Ray. But I have one suggestion."

"What?"

"When my father died .. was murdered ... the man who killed him had arranged for funds to be put into an account, to make it look like my father had been taking bribes. Of course he hadn't been, but the money still formed part of his estate. I tried to give it to the local Inuit, but they wouldn't touch it, because of where it had come from. I've been looking for a deserving cause for some time, so that I can clear my conscience. Would you permit me to add it to what you are going to use?"

"Hell, Ben - how much?"

"$100,000, plus interest. Canadian of course."

He whistles.

"That's a lot to give away - you sure?"

"I don't want to profit from my father's death any more than you do from that of your parents', Ray."

"OK then - the Damien and Barbara Kowalski Memorial Scholarship it is."

"I think it's very fitting."

"Maybe we could make it in police studies - that'll make my brother choke on his cornflakes."

"We can only hope, Ray."

 

* * *

Ben takes me home the following morning, and the way I feel makes me glad that the other times I had major operations like this one, I was off with the pixies. I sleep most of the day, because of the anaesthetic, but my hand hurts, even though I've been given some heavy duty pills.

Monday, Ben has to go back to work, and I manage to shoo him off after he's made me promise for the fifth time that I will call him if I need him, and get Mrs Connolly down the hall if I have any problems. Within an hour I'm bored, and cranky, and my hand still hurts. I can't dress myself hardly at all, so it's back to the sweat pants unless I want Mrs Connolly to help me pee. Can't draw, because I need my left hand to balance myself, and I can't put weight on it - Ok, so I could get round that, but I'm too pissed off and not in the mood. To top it all, Dief decides to be a major nuisance when I walk him, so when Ben comes home, he gets a blast of Kowalski in a snit. He lets me rave at him, as he walks in, drops some packages in the kitchen, then comes over to me, grabs my shoulders and walks me backwards to the sofa, and drops me.

"What the fuck are you doing, Fraser?"

He doesn't answer, just pushes me back with one hand and pulls my pants down with the other. OK, the one lonely brain cell that isn't throwing a temper tantrum works out that this could be fun, and I let Ben give me the blow job of a lifetime. By the time he's finished, I can't speak.

"Hello, Ray - how was your day?" he asks calmly.

"Uh - what was that, Ben?"

"Fellatio, Ray."

"Yeah, I _know_ that - why?"

"To distract you."

"You gonna do that every time I get mad at you?"

"Don't push your luck, Ray." He pulls up my sweat pants, and signals me to stay put. Not that I can move, exactly - I'm the original rag doll. He fetches one of the bags he brought home with him.

"Close your eyes, and open your mouth." All right, fair's fair, I think. Something cold hits my tongue - it's food then. I bite down.

"You like?"

"Mmmmm - what is it?"

"Chocolate covered strawberries."

"Before dinner?"

"There are rules about cheering up your lover?"

"Not in this house, there ain't."

"Then be quiet and open your mouth again."

"You're going all caveman on me here, Ben."

"Got your attention, though, didn't it? Nice doesn't always work, not with you. Anyway, you're feeling better, aren't you."

I open my mouth to say he doesn't get off that easy, when I realise that he's right. He takes the opportunity to feed me another one of these amazing strawberry things.

"See? We just needed to get your mind off being in pain and unhappy, and onto other things. Next time I'll know."

I groan. "Jesus, Ben - there's three more of these fuckers to go."

He rubs my shoulders.

"I know. It'll be worth it, I'm sure. And your hand won't hurt after the first few days."

"But I can't do anything with it," I complain, knowing I sound like a whiny kid.

"You'll adapt - like you did before. You'll see."

 

* * *

Ray does indeed get somewhat used to one-handedness, but the six weeks until the cast comes off passes slowly. The doctor allows him two weeks for therapy on the hand before the second operation. The trial of his attackers is also coming up and shortly after Ray comes out of the hospital we will be seeing the prosecuting attorney for a pre-trial conference. Ray is glad the trial is coming up before his right hand is worked on. "Want to use it to get the jury's attention - want to show them what those bastards did." The retirement board has also agreed to Ray's leaving the force on full disability, which is no surprise, and Ray takes the news in his stride - he had already ceased to think of himself as a detective in the department a long time ago. His experiences of police homophobia soured him against returning.

As before, the operation is on Saturday, he is home Sunday, and he is as poor a patient as ever. I pamper and soothe as much as I can, and ensure that I am ready for his bad mood when I get home on the Monday evening. But when I come in, I am unprepared for the storm of invective that hits me. Ray is boiling mad, and throws a card at me before I can even get the door shut.

"You knew about this, didn't ya, Fraser, you fucking bastard! You knew Stella was pregnant, and you didn't tell me. You're a total shit, you really are." As his words fly around, I bend and pick up the postcard, which is addressed to me and which announces the birth of Stella and Ray Vecchio's first child - a son. Wondering what on earth has possessed Ray Vecchio to be so stupid, I try to placate my angry partner.

"Ray, I'm sorry - I meant to tell you, but I just didn't get round to it."

"Why the fuck not, Ben? Did you think I wouldn't find out? Did you think I was too weak and stupid to deal with it? You just love it, dont'cha, Mountie - all this control while I can't do things for myself. Love it that I depend on you - is that why you couldn't say you loved me until I was half-dead? Or is that why you love me - cos I'm no fucking threat to ya? Do you get off on me being crippled? You must think it's just like being with a chick - you treat me like one, hiding stuff from me, thinking I can't handle it. What are you, some sort of white knight? I've had it up to here with it, I really have." He looks almost as if he would hit me - I pray he doesn't try, he will seriously injure himself.

"Ray - please. None of that is true - I don't like you being dependent, I don't want you hurt...."

"So you're sick of it too, Mountie? Well that makes two of us - only difference is, I can't walk out and leave it behind. You can turn tail anytime you want, and head back to Canada. In fact, why the fuck don't you do that right now - I don't need a nursemaid, and I don't need you. Go on, fuck off - you're going to anyway, so why not save some time. Don't want someone who lies to me, don't want your pity, don't want you being all nice when all you do is despise me.

"Ray...."

"I said, get out, Fraser. Get out or I'll throw you out. And take your mutt too." Ray is close to collapse, and worked up to a towering rage. I think it is probably safest to do as he says and leave for a few hours. Calling Dief, I go. He waits for me to leave and slams the door behind me.

 

* * *

As soon as Ben goes, I sit on the sofa, all the fight suddenly knocked out of me. The pure burning anger I have felt since the postcard arrived has died down, leaving an aching hurt at the betrayal by those I used to love and those I still do. I know Stella wanted to hurt me - I tried to make excuses for her not calling or writing while I was in hospital, but this - she had to know this would be the same as shooting me in the guts. I hope Vecchio isn't behind it - if I find out he is, I'll personally go to Florida, rip out his lungs and make him eat them raw.

Oh God. Ben. What have I done? He looked so hurt. What if he doesn't come back? What if he does come back and what I said is true - that he gets off on me being crippled, and is gonna leave as soon as I get well? It's been nagging me ever since I woke up and he was there at the hospital for me. I couldn't help wondering why then - why not before, in Canada? He's tried to explain any number of times, but still ...

My hand hurts, but my heart hurts worse. Jesus, Kowalski - how many fuckups can you make in one life time?

 

* * *

Walking alone on a dark, wet evening wondering if my relationship with Ray is now over is not something I want to ever be doing - and yet that is what is happening. Dief is complaining, having been turfed out of a nice warm apartment, after watching his humans fight. I want to talk to someone - I don't really understand where all Ray's anger against me has come from. I know he's in pain, and the card from Stella was unbelievably thoughtless - but how could he think I would leave? How could he believe I _prefer_ him to be crippled? I pass a telephone, and on impulse ring Lieutenant Welsh who insists I immediately take a cab and come to dinner.

Welsh's gruff kindness is a balm on a wounded soul, and I find myself telling him what Ray has said.

"The worst thing is, sir, I can't tell him the truth - which is how much I miss the old Ray. Every time I look at his hands, or see him limp, or he cries in the middle of the night like a child because of all the things that have happened to him - I want the old Ray back. The tough Ray, the beautiful Ray - the Ray with perfect hands. How can he believe I want him to be like this? But if I tell him I don't, he'll think he disgusts me."

"I know, Ben - it must be tough. I miss the old Ray too. I mean, there are things I like about him since he got out of hospital, but he was such a good cop - a good man to have on your team. But what he said about you going back to Canada? Surely you want to go back one day?"

"Home is where Ray is - Canada, America - Timbuktu. I don't know if he feels the same - maybe when his hands are fixed, he'll decide he doesn't need me any more."

Welsh snorted. "That little punk needs you all right - he's never had it so good. Thing is, I guess he's used to people running out on him - Stella, his parents - even you, the first time. He probably won't believe you're going to stay until you've been with him forty or fifty years."

We talk until nearly midnight and the lieutenant persuades me that it is far too late for him to drive me home - Ray will undoubtedly be asleep - so I ring our number and leave a message on the answering machine. Sleep doesn't comes easily.

 

* * *

When I wake, I know something's wrong. Ben not being beside me is not unusual, when he works the early morning shift, but I know he hasn't been in the bed all night. And Dief isn't there either. There's no note in the living room, but the answering machine is flashing. There's a message from Ben, telling me he's staying with Welsh overnight, that he'll see me at the precinct that afternoon for the meeting with the prosecutor - and that he loves me. His voice sounds as warm as usual - but he didn't come home. What do I make of that? I think about calling the consulate, but Ben's new boss is a bit of a hardass, and I don't want to get him into trouble. Besides, what can I say - sorry I threw you out of your own home because I was in a bad mood? Sorry that I don't trust you? Sorry because I know you're gonna leave, and there ain't nothing I can do about it?

The apartment is so empty without him, without Dief. What if he doesn't come home tonight? Maybe I should call Dr Durand, but then I smack myself for thinking it - I can't go running to her every time I have a fight with my boyfriend. I sit and stew for a while, then call Welsh and ask him if he can do lunch - he agrees to meet, but he's not exactly warm. Great - I've got my two closest friends mad at me.

We meet up at a diner near the station which is popular with cops - nothing fancy, but I don't feel embarrassed about my hands in places like this. Welsh orders and sits down.

"How's Ben?" I ask.

"He's been better - I'm sure you know that, Kowalski."

"Lieu, I just got mad at the whole world last night you know, with my hand, Stella's baby...."

"Your marital problems are none of my business, Ray, although I think you're a damn fool for hurting the best thing that's ever happened to you. But for the record, you got no business blaming Ben for not telling you about Stella's pregnancy - he only heard that from me, and god knows he's had enough to think about without keeping you up to date with your ex-wife's health. If you want to be mad at anyone, be mad at me - I decided not to tell you, for your own good. Look at how you reacted over Henderson - fortunately Beth Botrelle helped us out there. Who was gonna pull you back if you did the same when you heard Stella was expecting?"

"You got a point, boss," I mumble. I feel lower than a snake's underbelly.

"And another thing, I called Vecchio this morning and reamed him out for putting Ben in this position. He was pretty upset to hear about it - turns out that Stella's secretary just sent the cards out to everyone on their personal mailing list, without checking with either of them first. Just a mistake. Neither Ray or Stella wanted to hurt you - I know Vecchio well enough to know he'd never pull a stunt like that, and I'm surprised you think Stella would."

"What was I supposed to think....?"

"You were supposed to think, full stop, Kowalski. Now shut up and eat - I gotta get back to work, and you gotta see the attorney."

He keeps off the subject until we finish up and we're walking back to the precinct. But before we go inside, he stops.

"Just one more thing, Ray - Ben's got a place to stay with me whenever and for as long as he wants. You pull another act like this, and you could find yourself on your own, for good."

"Yes, Boss."

 

* * *

Welsh tells me to go in and talk to the attorney while he waits for Ben. The lawyer is a young guy named Patrick Johnson. We hardly get through our introductions when Welsh comes in with Ben. Ben gives me a smile, which I try to return, but to tell the truth, I can hardly look at him.

"Mr Johnson, this is my partner, Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP." He shakes Ben's hand, and doesn't question 'partner'. "Ben helped us take down Franklin."

"I see. Well, gentlemen, the case against Henderson is straightforward, since he's confessed, and your testimony is not too crucial in that case, Mr Kowalski. However you will have to testify against his accomplices, which you understand will involve describing the death of your parents, the kidnapping, assault and rapes..."

"Hold on ... I don't want to talk about the rapes - we got enough to take them down without that."

He tries to be patient. "I understand you may be reluctant, or embarrassed..."

"No, it ain't that ... but they'll try and bring in the fact I'm gay, won't they? I've seen it before."

"Well, in this case, they can hardly argue consent, but yes, it's an outside possibility they might bring it up, if they can - if they think it might prejudice the jury against you."

"But if they bring that up, I might have to mention Ben." I look at Ben direct. "Then the RCMP will find out about us. I can't do that to you."

He shakes his head. "No, Ray, I can't allow you to use that as an excuse, and besides, they already know. I put you down as my domestic partner when I took the Consulate post."

I'm too stunned to speak. I know my jaw is hanging open, and snap it shut.

"So, Mr Kowalski - does that change your opinion? It will be unpleasant to describe what happened, to the court..."

"Hell, I don't care about that ... been living with it for months. What happened to Mum and Dad is worse. Let me at it - I'll have 'em crying in the aisles."

Ben grins at me, and gives me the thumbs up sign, and even Welsh cracks a smile. We spend about an hour going over my testimony. The case will start in a week. Johnson shakes my hand as I leave.

"I appreciate how hard this will be for you, Mr Kowalski. At least we've got Henderson."

"We're gonna get 'em all," I promise.

 

* * *

Ray's bravado lasts until we get to the car, and then he turns uncharacteristically shy.

"Um, Ben - you gonna come back with me?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I would."

"I think we need to talk, though, Ray."

"I figured as much. Where?"

"Why don't we go down to the lake side - I can let Diefenbaker out there."

We drive in silence to the shore. Ray is nervous, I can tell. Ray parks and I let Dief out.

"Ben, I'm sorry for what I said last night, " he blurts. "Welsh explained about the card, and about Stella - I was a real prick."

"I understand, Ray. I was upset to think Ray Vecchio could have allowed it - I am glad to find out he didn't know. What really concerns me is that you seem to believe I am using you, or somehow enjoying your situation - please understand, nothing is further from the truth."

"But what about when I get better, Ben? You gonna go back?"

I sigh.

"I had hoped you knew that I wanted to stay with you, Ray. It seems we are at an impasse - I don't know if you will want me around when you are capable of looking after yourself, and you are afraid I will leave you at that point. I think that will only be resolved once your hands have been healed. I realise that I didn't give you much choice in the beginning - I moved into your home, and your life, and I never asked you if it was all right. I allowed you to become dependent on me, without considering if other options might have been more suitable."

"You mean, like leaving me to rot in the hospital - no thanks," he snarls.

"You see - that's what I mean. I have to wonder now if having me around was simply the lesser of two evils. But I could give you the choice now - Lieutenant Welsh is happy for me to stay with him, and I could assist you without actually living with you, or you could hire a home helper. You don't actually need me any more."

"Only to live and breathe, Ben - only to live and breathe." he says tiredly. "I don't want you to be around so you can wipe my ass, or cook, or do errands or any of that. I want you to be my lover, my friend - I can't hire that. I want you with me, to make love to me, to let me make love to you, to just be there. But if you think I suck, I don't blame you - I was a total bastard to you last night. I got no right to throw you out - it's your home too. I'm sorry - for all of it."

I pick up his hand, and touch the fingertips to my lips, then lean towards him and kiss his cheek. "Apology accepted. Shall we go home?" He gives me a real smile, then calls out the window for Dief. Then we go home.

 

* * *

Ray is careful to keep his temper in check. It is flattering that he wants me to stay so badly, but irritating because I don't want us to have to hide things from each other. Despite his sincere contrition, the question of what will happen when the operations on his hands are complete has not really been answered. I am certain I will not want to leave - he is certain that he won't want me to either, but I know better than to extract promises in this situation.

I manage to juggle my shifts and arrange overtime so I can be in court for Ray's testimony. He is dressed in his most flattering suit, his hair has grown out and been cut properly, and he looks even more handsome than usual. When I tell him this, he replies, "Gonna win over the girls _and_ the boys on the jury, Ben." We share a prolonged kiss before going out into the world where such things are frowned on. He looks good - confident, collected. Like the old Ray.

Even though I know seeing the men accused of his parents' murders and the horrific attack upon him must be difficult, he reveals nothing in his face. He answers the routine questions calmly, and proceeds to describe in accurate, objective terms, the horrors of that afternoon so many months before. He maintains good eye contact with the jury, who are visibly affected by his testimony, and as he planned, he takes the opportunity to make one particular impact. When asked what has been the permanent effect of the attack, he raises his right hand. At least two jury members look ill at the sight.

"You see this? Both my hands looked like this. This one," he shows the left, still in a cast, "they're still trying to fix. My left knee and ankle are shattered, and I can't run, or walk fast. I lost my job because of it - I was a good police officer, proud to serve, and now I can't do that any more."

"And what effect would you say the rapes have had upon you?"

"I don't trust men so much. There's some scarring which still causes pain. And I still go through the whole thing most nights, when I go to sleep. Apart from that, I lost five months of my life because of being out of it. I missed my parents' funeral."

Mr Johnson can't help but look a little smug at the picture of stoic suffering Ray has conveyed. The defence doesn't raise his sexuality - wisely, I think, because Ray has won a lot of sympathy by his appearance and his demeanour, although I may be biased, of course. But I honestly believe that for the females on the jury, his being gay would only endear him more to them.

I meet him outside the courtroom, and am shocked to find him gone white and shaky. "Men's room," he mutters urgently and I hurry him to the closest one, where he is immediately sick.

"Oh shit," he groans, when he stops vomiting. I wipe his mouth, and help him up, so he can wash his face. I have to hold him up - his legs have gone wobbly.

"Ray, do you need to sit? Or to see a doctor?"

"Sit, yes - doctor, no." He insists on sitting on the men's room floor. "I'm OK, Ben. Just all catching up with me - seeing those fuckers. One of them was giving me the evil eye - all I could think about was them doing it to me - oh god!" He dry heaves, but brings up only a little bile, which I clean up from his shirt as best I can. I get him a paper cup of water, and hold him until his colour improves.

"Ben - get me out of here, please?" I help him up, and steady him as we walk to the car. He slumps against the window on the way back, still looking gray, and exhausted. I have to half carry him to our apartment, and after removing his jacket, take him to the bedroom. He lies as if stunned, letting me undress him. I fetch a wet washcloth and wipe his face. He really does look ill.

"Ray, I think you should see someone."

He grabs at my hand.

"No, Ben, please. Just give me a minute. Is there any soda?" I get him a glass of cola, and after sipping it, he looks a little better. "You must think I'm pathetic, huh?" he says, weakly, trying to smile.

"Not in the least - I was very proud of you today. It was a remarkable display."

"They were lucky I didn't upchuck all over the stand," he says, darkly.

"Well, you had me fooled - I thought you were as cool as a cucumber."

"I was an undercover cop - remember? I'm good at acting."

"Oscar standard, I should say." I rub his head gently, and he relaxes under my hands.

"Glad that's all over. Maybe I can get on with my life now."

"What if they get off?"

"Don't care anymore - what are they gonna do to me? They already took everything away from me."

"No, Ray - they haven't. They haven't taken the most important thing - you."

"Almost did."

"But not quite. You showed them, showed me, today, how much they didn't take."

He twists up to look at me. " You really think I did good, Ben?"

"Ray, I had to fight  to stop myself from applauding. You made a very strong impression."

"The hand thing really worked, didn't it?" he says with some satisfaction. I nod. He moves down the bed, and curls up. "Think I want to rest now, Ben." I cover him up, and leave him in peace.

 

* * *

Late next morning Ray calls me at the consulate, to tell me he's heard the jury's gone out. I hear nothing more the rest of the day and I take a cab home, to be all the sooner home with Ray when the news breaks. But he meets me at the door, and I can tell at once the verdicts are in. He wraps his arms around me.

"Welsh called ten minutes ago - guilty, across the board. They all got life without parole."

I hug him tight. "Oh that's wonderful, Ray!" He rests his head on my shoulder, and I breathe in the scent of him, feel the warmth of him - so glad he is here, so glad it's all over. "I love you, " I whisper in his ear.

"Love you, Ben," I hear him say quietly. Then he kisses me.

"I got supper - just leftovers."

"Don't you want to celebrate? Go out, perhaps?"

He shakes his head. "I know I should be happy, but I just feel relieved. Too many people got hurt in this."

As we eat, I express my surprise that the criminals have escaped the death penalty. Ray looks at me steadily. "I asked Johnson not to push for it." My face shows my puzzlement, so he explains. "It's not that I'm against it - you and I both know if those guys were here now, and I could get away with it, I'd shoot them myself. But you saw the circus when Beth nearly got the needle - if they were gonna be executed, I'd have to go through all that. Every time the date came up. This way, they're gonna have a long time to wish they'd never fucked with me - or fucked me. I never want to have anything to do with them again."

"You won't - it's all over."

"Nearly," he says. "There's one more thing I gotta do - I want to go back to our church. I want to tell Mum and Dad."

"Shall I come with you?"

He is grateful. "Yeah - if you could."

 

* * *

Ray stands a long time in front of the lit candles, then finally releases a heavy sigh. "I'm done." As we drive back through the dark night, he says, "I told them every thing - about the trial, about the scholarship - about us. Dumb, huh."

"No, Ray, it isn't. And I'm glad."

"Mum liked you a lot, Ben."

"She was a wonderful person - your father too. I'm very grateful to them."

"For what?"

"Making you."

"Wish they were here for you to tell them that."

"I'm sure they know."

 

* * *

Over the next couple of months, things change a lot for Ray. Welsh introduces him to a friend of a friend, who works in a large city firm that is looking for a security consultant, and Ray gets the job, much to his delight, even if he does complain about having to wear a suit. The operation on his left hand was a moderate success, and as it was by far the most damaged, we are hopeful that the right hand will be restored to almost normal use - in any event, the improvement should allow Ray complete independence. The time has come when I have to decide what I want to do with my future. Ray won't need me any more in a few short weeks. He seems happy with me, and I love him as much as ever. The question is - is it forever? I make my decision.

 

* * *

Ben gives me a call at my new job, and asks if I can meet him at an address in the suburbs after work. He's been on the early shift for the last two weeks, so he finishes about three hours before I do. I know he hasn't been going straight back home, but he says he's been doing some research. Must be some Mountie thing. I flex my left hand - it's not my usual hand for doing stuff, and it's getting tired having to carry the load for two. But I'm not complaining - just being able to have a hand that can do that is a miracle so far as I'm concerned. It's a good thing the new job comes with a secretary - I'd never be able to get a letter out like this.

The address where Ben asks to meet is a big old house, with an overgrown garden - obviously empty. He's waiting outside.

"So what's the deal, Ben."

"Come in, I'll show you." The house is roomy, three bedrooms and a study, a big kitchen, and out the back, a large yard.

"OK, so it's a nice house. Why did you bring me all the way out here?"

"Well, Ray, I was thinking of buying it." As the meaning of what he says hits me, all the blood rushes from my head. Ben grabs me. "Ray! Ray! Are you all right? Sit down for a minute."

I push his hands away. "Get off me, Ben, I ain't sitting on a dusty old floor in my suit. What the fuck did you just say? You're gonna buy it?"

"I said I was thinking about it."

"So, this is what you had planned - when were you gonna tell me? Before or after the last operation? Or were you gonna just up and go?"

He looks confused and hurt - well fuck him, how can he just do this and expect me to like it?

"Ray, you don't understand - I want you to come and live with me."

I'm still pissed off. "What, so you can throw me out like I threw you out, next time we have a fight? Cute, Ben, real cute. Then I'll have lost the lease on my apartment, and be homeless."

"Ray - would you please shut up?" That stops me cold - that has to be the rudest thing Ben's ever said to anyone. I glare at him.

"If you would just allow me to explain. I would like to buy this place, because it has room for Diefenbaker, and a perfect studio space for you. If you decide you want to come with me, then you can either have a lifelong lease which can't be broken in the event of me selling up, or you could buy it with me - or you could buy it and I'll rent from you. You could sublet your apartment, if you're worried. I just wanted you to have the choice. Your apartment's too small, and I've invaded your castle for long enough."

I wonder if Ben is ever going to stop surprising the hell out of me. I try and stay mad. "You just decided this all on your own."

"Well, you were so busy with the new job, I thought I could do the leg work. If you don't like it..."

"I never said I didn't like it, OK? I just wish you'd told me."

Ben looks sad. "I was afraid you'd ask me to go." Well, I deserve that, with all the crap I threw at him those months ago.

"OK. It's a great house, and I want to live here with you - fifty-fifty, don't want to be a tenant again. But only on one condition - three actually."

"What are they?"

I put my arms around him. "One. Don't ever go and make any big decisions like this without talking to me first - you can trust me, and I'm your partner. OK?" He nods. "Two - don't ever leave me, even if I try and make you. Remember I get unhinged sometimes, so you gotta protect me from myself. OK?" He nods again and grins. "Three. Marry me."

"You're serious?" His eyes are big with shock.

"You betcha. And that'll solve the problem of me being scared you'll go back and you thinking I don't want you around. So - we got a deal?"

"Yes, Ray. There's just one problem."

"Yeah - what?"

"Who carries the other over the threshold?"

"The first one back to the car?"

He bolts, but I take my time - I may be damaged, but I ain't stupid.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written nearly twenty years ago under another pseudonym. It hasn't been revised since then.
> 
> I am posting this and my other stories from this period purely so people can read them if they choose. I won't be reading comments, and don't care if you leave kudos. I'm dumping them and running.
> 
> Having said that, I worked hard on them, and I hope they still entertain someone out there.


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